“You hef the word, Donald Menzies,” said Lachlan; and it came to this handful of Scottish peasants that they had to make that choice that has been offered unto every man since the world began. Carmichael's predecessor was minister of the Free Church in those days, who afterwards got University preferment--he wrote a book on the Greek particles, much tasted in certain circles--and is still called “the Professor” in a hushed voice by old people. He was so learned a scholar that he would go out to visit without his hat, and so shy that he could walk to Kildrummie with one of his people on the strength of two observations, the first at Tochty bridge and the other at the crest of the hill above the station. Lachlan himself did not presume at times to understand his sermons, but the Free Church loved their scholar, for they knew the piety and courage that dwelt in the man. The manse housekeeper, who followed Cunningham with his hat and saw that he took his food at more or less regular intervals, was at her wit's end before that Sabbath. “A 've hed chairge o' him,” she explained to the clachan, “since he wes a laddie, an' he 's a fine bit craiturie ony wy ye tak' him. “Ye juist hammer at his door in the morning till ye 're sure he's up, an' bring him oot o' the study when denner's ready, an' watch he hesna a buke hoddit aboot him--for he's tricky--an' come in on him every wee whilie till ye think he's hed eneuch, an' tak' awa his lamp when it's time for him tae gang tae bed, an' it's safer no tae lat him hae mair than a can'le end, or he wud set tae readin' in his bed. Na, na, he's no ill tae guide. “But keep's a', he's been sae crouse this week that he's fair gae'n ower me. He's been speakin' tae himsel' in the study, an' he 'll get up in the middle o' his denner an' rin roond the gairden. “Ye ken the minister hardly ever speaks gin ye dinna speak tae him, though he's aye canty; bit this week if he didna stop in the middle o' his denner an' lay aff a story aboot three hun-der lads that held a glen wi' their swords till the laist o' them wes killed--a'm dootin' they were Hielan' caterans--an' he yokit on the auld martyrs ae nicht tae sic an extent that I wes near the greetin'. “Ye wudna ken him thae times--he's twice his size, an' the langidge poors frae him. A' tell ye Burnbrae's on his brain, and ye 'll hae a sermon worth hearin' on Sabbath. Naebody kens the spirit 'at's in ma laddie when he's roosed,” concluded Maysie, with the just pride of one who had tended her scholar since childhood.