'A grand sermon!' said Mr. Kilgour, 'an' was na he bonny about the Shulamite? Tho' I'm free, to say I kenna verra weel wha she was. But I'm misdoubtin' but she was some thochtless young hempie 'at kenned na' weel what she was after--An' hoo' he cried til her to return!' 'That was the wanderin' sauls o' sinfu' folk,' said Peter clearing his voice for an extended exposition, but he got no farther, for William here brought the pious abstract down to the concrete and personal by breaking in. 'An' saw na ye hoo young Tibbie Tirpie, sittin' awa back wi' the hindmost took to the greetin', an' down wi' her head, an' up wi' her neepkin, like's a' the minister was sayin' was for her.' 'Hech laddie!' said Mrs. Kilgour, 'an' what for no? we hae a' wandered frae the truith. The word was powerfu', an' wha kens but it may hae reached her heart. An' micht it no hae reached yer ain as weel, William?' 'An' that's true! Mistress Kilgour, an' nae doubt but it wull belive whan the Lord sees fit. But it was yersel' was speakin' about the Shulamite an' winderin' gin she micht na hae been some thochtless hempie, juist mentioned ye ken for our edification--an' it kind o' looket like's she had taen 't a' to heart. Wha kens?' 'Whish man! Think shame! Ye maunna be lichtlyin' a lass's repute for naething. Naething but greetin' e'y kirk. An' that diz her credit. It wad be weel, lad, gin yer ain flinty heart wad melt as easy.' 'Belike it wad, Mistress Boague, but I'm jalousin''-- Here Meizie interposed to save her young man from the threatening onslaught of the matrons by a change of subject. 'Yon's a braw muckle bairn o' Jean Cameron's, an' was na Sandie the proud man whan he held it up to the minister?' 'A fine bairn! an' sae war the ither twa. An' didna the minister lay the vows tichtly on the fathers. Gin they stick til a' they hae promised this day, the weins will get a godly upbringin'. An' didna our ain minister look solemn whan he held up yon bonny wee thing, to be baptised. An' it neither grat nor skirled whan the water fall on its bit face, 'ats no the size o' a saxpence.' 'I'm wae it didna skirl,' said Mrs. Kilgour. It's aye a gude sign. My gude-mither wad aye be sayin' it was a sign the Deil was losin' its hauld o' the bairn.' 'Ye've no warrant in Scriptur for that, Mistress,' said Peter. 'It's a superstitious notion, an' I'm misdoubtin' but it's a rag o' the whoor o' Babylon.' 'A weel! I kenna mysel, but mine skirled weel. I had to rin out wi' Meisie there, or she'd hae deaved the hale kirk wi' her screighin'. An' see til her noo! for a braw sonsey lass. The pruif o' the puddin's the preein' o' 't. Babylon or no!' 'An' wha's the Minister's wein ca'd after?' 'On Miss Mary be sure! She carried her in.'