D? Ay, I ken him fine; he micht be waur, though he's ower fond o' the kittle pairts o' the Old Testament; but he reads his sermon frae the paper, an' it's an auld sayin', 'If a meenister canna mind [remember] his ain discoorse, nae mair can the congregation be expectit to mind it.'... Mr. E? He's my ain meenister.” (She has a pillow in her mouth now, but though she is shaking it as a terrier would a rat, and drawing on the linen slip at the same time, she is still intelligible between the jerks). “Susanna says his sermon is like claith made o' soond 'oo [wool] wi' a guid twined thread, an' wairpit an' weftit wi' doctrine. Susanna kens her Bible weel, but she's never gaed forrit.” (To 'gang forrit' is to take the communion). “Dr. F? I ca' him the greetin' doctor! He's aye dingin' the dust oot o' the poopit cushions, an' greetin' ower the sins o' the human race, an' eespecially o' his ain congregation. He's waur sin his last wife sickened an' slippit awa'. 'Twas a chastenin' he'd put up wi' twice afore, but he grat nane the less. She was a bonnie bit body, was the thurd Mistress F! E'nboro could 'a' better spared the greetin' doctor than her, I'm thinkin'.” “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, according to His good will and pleasure,” I ventured piously, as Mrs. M'Collop beat the bolster and laid it in place. “Ou ay,” responded that good woman, as she spread the counterpane over the pillows in the way I particularly dislike,--“ou ay, but whiles I think it's a peety he couldna be guidit!” Chapter XI. Holyrood awakens. We were to make our bow to the Lord High Commissioner and the Marchioness of Heatherdale in the evening, and we were in a state of republican excitement at 22 Breadalbane Terrace. Francesca had surprised us by refusing to be presented at this semi-royal Scottish court. “Not I,” she said. “The Marchioness represents the Queen; we may discover, when we arrive, that she has raised the standards of admission, and requires us to 'back out' of the throne-room. I don't propose to do that without London training. Besides, I detest crowds, and I never go to my own President's receptions; and I have a headache, anyway, and I don't feel like coping with the Reverend Ronald to-night!” (Lady Baird was to take us under her wing, and her nephew was to escort us, Sir Robert being in Inveraray). “Sally, my dear,” I said, as Francesca left the room with a bottle of smelling-salts somewhat ostentatiously in evidence, “methinks the damsel doth protest too much. In other words, she devotes a good deal of time and discussion to a gentleman whom she heartily dislikes. As she is under your care, I will direct your attention to the following points:-- “Ronald Macdonald is a Scotsman; Francesca disapproves of international alliances. “He is a Presbyterian; she is a Swedenborgian. “His father was a famous old-school doctor; Francesca is a homoeopathist. “He is serious; Francesca is gay.