“Mrs Whyte is to have a few friends,” said the Reverend Robert, with a conscious smile, “and there is no reason why they should only be ministers.” “I didna say there was,” said Miss Insches; “is onybody we ken to be there, Robert?” Robert smiled again. His sister had come to understand the particular meaning of this smile. “I fancy Miss Maxwell of Mossgray will be there,” he said with a blush as he returned to his sermon. Miss Insches applied herself to her shirt with another little suppressed sigh. She understood very well what was meant by Miss Maxwell of Mossgray; and Miss Insches by no means disliked Helen; but the great question whether she would be sufficiently careful of Robert when advanced to the dignity of Robert’s wife was hard and difficult to solve. Miss Insches shook her head as she went on with her work. On Monday--the crisis might come on Monday. Monday when it came was bright with the sunshine, and fragrant with all the sweet sounds and odours of May. On the preceding day had been the half-yearly Occasion, the Communion Sabbath of Kirkmay, and the Monday’s services were of thanksgiving, according to the reverent usage of Scotland. Mr Wright of Fairholm was the officiating minister, and preached a chaotic ponderous sermon, which, according to the judgment of the Kirkmay elders, had “guid bits in it; very guid bits; but was naething like the minister’s.” The minister was very much beloved in his parish; they rather prided themselves, these simple people, on their possession of a man who wrote books, even though the books were but sixpenny ones; and read his small biographies with proud regard. The one gentle weakness of his fine character came out as an excellence in their eyes, and there were few in Kirkmay who did not boast of “the minister.” After dinner, while the gentlemen were still down-stairs, Mrs Whyte, with her lady guests, pleasantly occupied the comfortable plain drawing-room, which, though it was by no means so fine, did yet, Miss Insches could not fail to perceive, look a very much more habitable place than the corresponding room in the Manse of Fendie. Mr Whyte dabbled a little in all the gentler sciences--the flowers which his wife cultivated, because she cultivated everything beautiful which was within her reach, the good minister classified, and talked of with gentle erudition; and specimens of fine seaweed, and delicate mosses, and fossils not very rare, and shells picked up on the margin of the Firth, evinced his universal liking, and his only rudimentary knowledge of the kindred philosophies of nature. He was not very learned in these various departments; he only marvelled over the wondrous mechanism of everything which came from his Master’s hand, and cherished them all tenderly for their Maker’s sake.