"We'll soon see if you are converted to the Lord," she said. "_He_ is a hard worker. There are no idlers on His estates. If it's true, we may get these pigs covered in to-night yet." "Never trouble your head about the pigs, Miss Janet," said Boyd, "they will surely sleep safe under a roof this night. Strive to fix your mind on higher things, Miss Jen. There's such a thing as makin' a god of this here transient evil world, as I said to Bridget when the potatoes went bad just because I got no time to 'pit' them, having had to play the fiddle at four kirns'[2] in different parishes during potato-lifting week!" "Never mind about that," said my grandfather from his seat in the chimney corner, "tell us about your 'conversion'!" For the word was then a new one in Galloway, and of no good savour either among orthodox Cameronians or pillars of the Kirk as by law established. But Israel Kinmont had been a sailor to far ports. In his youth he had heard Whitefield preach. He had followed Wesley's folk afar off. The career of a humble evangelist attracted him, and when in his latter days he had saved enough to buy the oldest and worst of all luggers that ever sailed the sea, he devoted himself, not to the gainful traffic of smuggling, but to the unremunerative transport of sea-coal and lime from Cockermouth and Workington to the small ports and inlets of the Galloway coast. No excisemen watching on the cliffs gave more than a single glance at "Israel's Tabernacle," as, without the least irreverence, he had named his boat. But, using the same ports as the smugglers, he was often brought into close relations with them. They asked him for information which was freely given, as from one friend to another. They trusted him, for though often interrogated by the supervisor and riding officers, Israel could develop upon occasion an extraordinary deafness, so that the questions to which he could give a clear answer were never such as to commit any one. In exchange for this the smugglers would go aboard the Tabernacle and allow Israel to preach to them. And woe betide the irreverent on these occasions! Black Rob o' Garlies or Roaring Imrie from Douglas-ha' thought nothing of taking such a one by convenient parts of his clothing and dropping him overboard. "Aye," said Boyd, encouraged by my grandfather's request, "Israel Kinmont has made a new man of many a hardened sinner!" "I dare you to say so," cried my grandmother; "only the Lord that is on High can do that." "But He can make use of instruments," argued Boyd, who had learned his lesson, "and Israel Kinmont is one of them. He has showed me where to get grace." "Maybe," snapped Jen, that unswerving Calvinist, "seeing is believing. Boyd Connoway _may_ have got grace. I put no limit to the Almighty's power. But it takes more than grace to convert a man from laziness!" Boyd lifted his hand with a gesture so dignified that even from the good-for-nothing it commanded respect.