At the beginning of my third winter, I went to the “Provost” to arrange for the use of the Hall, and was told that the trustees had resolved, contrary to all precedent, to charge me the same fee as they charged any travelling concert company for every night I used it. At first, I was dumbfounded. The charge was prohibitive. I went home in despair, to take counsel with my women-folks. Advice and comfort came, and from a source whence I never expected it. Janet, who bore no particular good-will to the Frees, came to the rescue. “Ye needna tribble yersel’ about that poor ablich o’ a minister bodie an’ his elders. There’s plenty o’ room for a’ the laddies in my kitchen. We’ll get some o’ them to gie’s a haund, and we’ll cairry oot the things that wad be in the wye, an’ aifter the class is ower, we can easy pit them a’ back again.” “But, Janet,” I said, “that’ll mean a lot of work twice every week.” “Never ye min’ that, we’re nae gaun to hae the good wark stoppit for a wee bit extra wark.” And so it was arranged. The class was summoned to a meeting in the parsonage kitchen, the new scheme was broached, and every one promised to help. One or two came half an hour earlier on class nights to get things in order; several of them always stayed behind to restore things to their wonted order; and the work went on, with more success than ever. Persecution in a good cause is always productive of good. Even some of the old folks, who at first were suspicious of anything of the nature of innovation, expressed their sympathy in no uncertain language. Davie Paterson, the postman, on his journey round the Brae side, gave a most amusing account of the whole affair to the Brae dominie, who in turn retailed it to me. “That free kirk futtrit thocht he was gaun to pit an end to Maister Gray’s nicht schule, but, Lord, man, he got sair begowkit. The parsonage kitchie on a schule nicht is a sicht for sair e’en. I gaed roon ae evenin’ to hae a word wi’ the minister, an’ got a luik in. Muckle Jamie Todd, that used to be either blebbin’ an’ drinkin’ at the inn in the forenichts, or fechtin, was in the neuk, wi’ the meal barrel for a dask, an’ wis learnin’ gigonometry, or lan’ measurin’, or something o’ that kind, an’ he wis that eident that he never saw me. The minister himsel’ had a muckle blackboard set up on the dresser, an’ wis giein’ the lave a lesson in gography. They were a’ as busy as bonnet makkers. Thae Frees may say what they like, the toon folk are maistly a’ wi’ Maister Gray. You would think it was Sunday on the schule nichts--the hale place is as quaiet as pussy. If he’s nae daein’ ony gude, he’s keepin’ a lot o’ them oot o’ mischief.”