"Ay, ye'll hae seen it i' London toun, I daur say? all that's bad's safe to gang there." I believe Sam thinks all Londoners a pack of thieves. "Atweel, Miss Cary, there's a gran' sicht o' veneered Christians i' this country. They look as spic-span, and as glossy, and just the richt shade o' colour, and bonnily grained, and a' that--till ye get ahint 'em, and then ye see that, saving a thin bit o' facing, they're just common deal, like ither folk. Ay, and it's maistly the warst bits o' the deal as is used up ahint the veneer. It is, sae! Ye see, 'tis no meant to last, but only to sell. And there's a monie folks 'll gi'e the best price for sic-like, and fancy they ha'e getten the true thing. But I'm thinkin' the King 'll no gi'e the price. His eyes are as a flame o' fire, and they'll see richt through siccan rubbish, and burn it up." "And Mr Liversedge, I suppose, is the real mahogany?" "He is sae: and he's a gey awkward way of seeing ahint thae bits o' veneered stuff, and finding out they're no worth the money. And they dinna like him onie better for 't." "But I hope he does not make a mistake the other way, Sam, and take the real thing for the veneer?" "You trust him for that. He was no born yestre'en. There's a hantle o' folk makes that blunder, though." Away went Sam for the kettle. When he brought it back, he said,--"Miss Cary, ye'll mind Annie Crosthwaite, as lives wi' auld Mally?" Ah, did I not remember Annie Crosthwaite?--poor, fragile, pretty spring flower, that some cruel hand plucked and threw away, and men trod on the bemired blossom as it lay in the mire, and women drew their skirts aside to keep from touching the torn, soiled petals? "Yes, Sam," I said, in a low voice. "Ay, the minister brought yon puir lassie a message frae the gude Lord--`Yet return again to Me'--and she just took it as heartily as it was gi'en, and went and fand rest--puir, straying, lost sheep!--but when she came to the table o' the Lord, the ninety and nine wad ha'e nane o' her--she was gude eneuch for Him in the white robe o' His richteousness, but she was no near gude eneuch for them, sin she had lost her ain--and not ane soul i' a' the parish wad kneel down aside o' her. Miss Cary, I ne'er saw the minister's e'en flash out sparks o' fire as they did when he heard that! And what, think ye, said he?" "I should like to hear, Sam." "`Vara gude,' says he. `I beg,' he says, `that none o' ye all will come to the Table to-morrow. Annie Crosthwaite and I will gang thither our lane: but there'll be three,' says he, `for the blessed Lord Himsel' will come and eat wi' us, and we wi' Him, for He receiveth sinners, and eateth with them.' And he did it, for a' they tald him the Bishop wad be doun on him. `Let him,' says he, `and he shall hear the haill story': and not ane o' them a' wad he let come that morn. They were no worthy, he said." "And did the Bishop hear of it?"