An adventurous hen with a brood of chickens--little fluffy balls of gold and snow--had followed us, and with noisy duckings from the mother, the little creatures pecked and picked from the floor. Jean clapped her hands at them: "Shoo! ye wee Covenanters!" she cried. I laughed, as I said, "Why do you call them Covenanters?" "Weel," she replied, "I often think that chickens and the hill-men ha’e muckle in common. Ye see maist Covenanters tak’ life awfu’ seriously. They ha’e few pleasures frae the minute they come into the world. A kitten will lie in the sun playin’ wi’ a bit o’ ’oo’, and a wee bit puppy will chase its tail for half an hour on end: but wha ever saw a chicken playin’? They dinna ken the way. It’s scrape, scrape, pick, pick, frae the day they crack the shell till the day their necks are wrung. And your Covenanter’s muckle the same. He’s so borne doon wi’ the wecht o’ life that he has nae time for its joys. They’re guid men, I’m no’ denyin’, but I sometimes think they’ve got queer notions of God. They fear God, and some o’ them are feart o’ Him. There’s a difference--a big difference. I aye like to think o’ the Almichty as a kind-hearted Father: but to hear some even o’ the best o’ the hill-men talk o’ Him, ye micht weel think He was a roarin’ fury chasin’ weans oot frae amang the young corn wi’ a big stick. But there are others. Now godly Samuel Rutherford and your frien’ Alexander Main were brimfu’ o’ the joy o’ life. They kent the secret; and it warmed their hearts and made them what they were. I like to think o’ the love of God spread ower the whole earth like a May mist on the moors--something that is warm, that has the dew in it and that comes wi’ refreshment to puir and lowly things. "I was brocht up on the Catechism--strong meat and halesome--but it seems to me that noo and then we lose our sense o’ the richts o’ things. Now there’s Andra; he believes that the Catechism hauds a’ the wisdom o’ man aboot God; and it is a wise book; but to my way o’ thinkin’, God is far bigger than the Catechism, and some o’ us haena learned that yet. Ye canna shut God in a man-made book that ye can buy for tippence." I laughed as I said: "Mistress Paterson, you interest me greatly, but I fear that some of the things you say to me would shock the good men of the flock." She laughed heartily as she replied: "Fine I ken that. Ye maunna’ say a word o’ this to Andra, for if he heard tell o’ what I ha’e been sayin’, he would be prayin’ for me like a lost sheep every nicht when he tak’s the Book, and it would be a sair affront for the guid-wife o’ the hoose to be prayed for alood by her ain man, afore strangers." I laughed. "You may trust me," I said, and she continued: