The Scotchmen had turned out nearly a hundred strong this morning, for the minister from the city was a great man with a continental reputation. It was a beautifully clear, brilliant day, too, one of those days that only the much maligned November can bring, with dazzling cloudless skies and an exhilarating tang of frost-nipped leaves in the air. So the Scotchmen were all there, even old Angus McRae and his son, the young Highlander looking very handsome in his regalia. Jock McPherson and the Captain of the _Inverness_ were there too. Captain Jimmie was in his glory, but Mr. McPherson looked as if he were preparing to object to everything about him. Each recurring St. Andrew's Sunday found the Elder more and more inclined to think that this Sabbath parade was scarcely in keeping with the day. But he was a true Scot at heart, and no amount of orthodoxy could keep him out of it. He felt this morning, however, that matters had gone a bit too far, for the warm day had tempted Archie Blair, and he had come out in the kilt, his shameless bare-kneed example followed by Harry Lauder and three other foolish youths of the Highland club. A few minutes before the hour for the service, when the bells had begun to roll out their invitations from the three church towers, the procession started. And the Methodists and Baptists and Anglicans kept themselves late for church by lingering on the side-walk to see it pass. It was worth watching; as very stately and solemn and slow it moved along the street and up to the church door. Mr. McPherson moved rather stiffly, for Archie Blair was walking beside Lawyer Ed directly in front of him, and the very tilt of his bonnet and the swing of his kilt was a profanation of the day. Somehow, the doctor did not at all fit in with the Sabbath. He was a big straight man, long of limb, broad of shoulder and inclined to a generous rotundity, and he swaggered so splendidly when he walked, and held up his bonneted head with such a dashing air, that he gave the distinct impression that the bagpipes were skirling out a gay march as he swung past. The sight of him on this Sabbath morning struck dismay to Jock's orthodox soul, clinging tenaciously to its ancient traditions. Lawyer Ed, too, seemed to have donned the spirit of irreverence with the bonnet, and was conducting himself as no elder of the kirk should have behaved even at a St. Andrew's banquet. "Eh, losh Ed, mon," cried the doctor, loud enough for Jock to hear. "Ah wush we could hae a bit strathspey frae the pipes to march wi' to the kirk, foreby." Lawyer Ed's face became forbidding. "Eh, eh, and that to an elder? Div ye hear yon, Jock? It's the Heilan's comin' oot o' him!" Jock could not resist a sudden temptation. That strange twist came over his face, which heralded a far-off joke. He spoke very slowly. "It's what you micht be expecting from the likes o' him. It's written down in his history: