"The Apostle says we're no to speak evil o' the ruler o' our people," said Mrs. Melder; "but, eh, Miss Anne, he's wersh and unprofitable. When I was in my trouble and sorrow (and who can tell how dark the earth is, and a'thing in't, when one is bereaved o' their first-born--their only lamb!) Robert brought the minister, thinking he could speak a word o' comfort to me; and what think ye he said, Miss Anne? No that I was to look to my Lord that had gathered my lamb to his ain bosom, out of a' the ills o' this world, but that I was to be reasonable and calm, and bear the trouble wi' fortitude, because it couldna be helpit. That was a' the comfort he had to speak to a distracted woman, whose only bairn was in its grave! But he never had ony little ones himsel." "And you do not come to the Church, now?" said Anne, holding out her hand, as Lilie descended from the table, and came to her side again. "Na; we were once gaun to the Meeting, Robert and me, for the Seceder minister preaches guid doctrine, but we couldna think to leave the Kirk. My father was an elder for twenty year--sae we aye waited on till Mr. Lumsden came to Portoran. Eh, Miss Anne, he's a grand man! They say there's no the like o' him in the haill Presbytery!" "What is this, Lilie?" cried Anne. Lilie had brought her new "Shorter Catechism," that much-prized text-book of Presbyterian Scotland, to point out the lessons which she was to repeat to Robert Melder, on the Sabbath afternoon, according to the venerable and excellent custom of such religious humble households; and insisted upon repeating her former "questions" and the first Psalm she had learnt in her new language. Anne took the book, well pleased, and listened, while Lilie repeated that beautiful proposition in which all Scotland for centuries has learned to define the chief end of man, and then, with some slight stammering and uncertainty, went on: "That man hath perfect blessedness, Who walketh not astray." The first verse was repeated, and Lilie stayed to remember the second. "Eh," cried Mrs. Melder, "hasna she come uncommon fast on? but I wish ye would speak to Jacky Morison, Miss Anne, she's learning the bairn nonsense ballants and--" "He shall be like a tree that grows, Near planted by a river," burst out Lilie triumphantly. "Which in his season yields his fruit, And his leaf fadeth never. And all he doth shall prosper well--" The child paused--accomplished the next three lines with prompting, and then made a stop. "Lilie no mind now--Lilie show you the tree." Anne suffered herself to be drawn out--the tree which Lilie fancied must be the one meant in the Psalm, was an oak which stood upon a swelling hillock close by the Oran. When they came near, the child's wandering attention was caught by some carving on the rude and gnarled trunk. "What's that?" she asked. Anne read it, wonderingly: "Norman R. R. Marion L." Beneath were two longer lines: