“At least,” Maggie resumed a little hurriedly, “I have the best right to him!” and there stopped. “She cannot possibly be his mother!” thought the minister, and resolved to question his housekeeper about the child. “Is your father in the house?” he asked, and without waiting for an answer, went in. “Such a big boy is too heavy for you to carry!” he added, as he laid his hand on the latch of the kitchen door. “No ae bit!” rejoined Maggie, with a little contempt at his disparagement of her strength. “And wha’s to cairry him but me?” Huddling the boy to her bosom, she went on talking to him in childish guise, as she lifted the latch for the minister:— “Wad he hae my pet gang traivellin the warl’ upo thae twa bonny wee legs o’ his ain, wantin the wings he left ahint him? Na, na! they maun grow a heap stronger first. His ain mammie wad cairry him gien he war twice the size! Noo, we s’ gang but the hoose and see daddy.” She bore him after the minister, and sat down with him on her own stool, beside her father, who looked up, with his hands and knees in skilful consort of labour. “Weel, minister, hoo are ye the day? Is the yerd ony lichter upo’ the tap o’ ye?” he said, with a smile that was almost pauky. “I do not understand you, Mr. MacLear!” answered James with dignity. “Na, ye canna! Gien ye could, ye wouldna be sae comfortable as ye seem!” “I cannot think, Mr. MacLear, why you should be rude to me!” “Gien ye saw the hoose on fire aboot a man deid asleep, maybe ye micht be in ower great a hurry to be polite til ’im!” remarked the soutar. “Dare you suggest, sir, that I have been drinking?” cried the parson. “Not for a single moment, sir; and I beg yer pardon for causin ye so to mistak me: I do not believe, sir, ye war ever ance owertaen wi’ drink in a’ yer life! I fear I’m jist ower ready to speyk in parables, for it’s no a’body that can or wull un’erstan’ them! But the last time ye left me upo’ this same stule, it was wi’ that cry o’ the Apostle o’ the Gentiles i’ my lug—‘Wauk up, thoo that sleepest!’ For even the deid wauk whan the trumpet blatters i’ their lug!” “It seems to me that there the Apostle makes allusion to the condition of the Gentile nations, asleep in their sins! But it may apply, doubtless, to the conversion of any unbelieving man from the error of his ways.” “Weel,” said the soutar, turning half round, and looking the minister full in the face, “are _ye_ convertit, sir? Or are ye but turnin frae side to side i’ yer coffin—seekin a sleepin assurance that ye’re waukin?” “You are plain-spoken anyway!” said the minister, rising. “Maybe I am at last, sir! And maybe I hae been ower lang in comin to that same plainness! Maybe I was ower feart for yer coontin me ill-fashiont—what ye ca’ _rude_!”