'I regret to observe, Peter, that my ministrations have made so little impression on your memory. Let us hope my successor may be more blest. Have you forgotten the words of David? "Shall I offer to the Lord of that which cost me nothing?" Or of another, "Sell that which thou hast and give to the poor?" The gift of the bawbee would show little self-sacrifice in either you or me!' 'Speak for yersel', sir! I hae muckle fash gatherin' the bawbees 'at ye lichtly sae; an' I care na to waur mony o' them on a curran feckless gowks, 'at suld be garred get for themsel's; but I'm thinkin' it's the ither gate wi' you an' yer like--easy come easy gang. Arena we a' payin' intil the Sustentation Fund? An' ye hae naething to do but tak yer share, an' read yer books an' crack til's. My certie, but it's a braw tred the preachin'! But I'm just winderin' hoo ye can gar't gree wi' yer principles, 'at whan ye gie sae muckle, ye dinna support mair the tred o' them 'at's contreebutin' to support yersel'! We're no a' beggars i' Glen Effick, but gin a' body did as ye do, there's Mester Prittie an' mysel micht tak t'ey beggin' afore lang for a' the tred we'd do.' 'As to that, Peter, we live in a free country. You take your Gospel in any church you have a mind to, and no one has a right to gainsay your choice; and so, also, my sister buys her groceries where she thinks proper. As it happens, she continues, I believe, to buy them mostly in Inverlyon, where her mother bought them before her. And as to the people in the Glen having a claim to our custom, because they contribute to the Sustentation Fund, and I am paid out of it, I can only say that I distribute among them all I receive from that source, and more, though I make no merit of it. I have lived on my own means ever since I have been among you. My residence, however, is drawing to an end. My physician warns me, it will be at the risk of my life if I remain here during the winter. I have been unwilling to follow his advice, believing it my duty to remain and labour while strength lasted; but after this conversation and the state of feeling in the parish which it betrays, I see clearly that all hope of usefulness for me here is at an end, and so soon as I am sufficiently recovered, I shall go. The discovery that such suspicions are entertained against me, coming too so suddenly and unexpectedly, is deeply painful; but if I am to suffer, it is a consolation to know that it is for my good deeds, and not for evil. Saint Peter's words, which Mr. Geddie there can point out to you, are my assured consolation.'