‘No--and yet----’ ‘Or what if I should tell you I have chosen some other religion? Why should I be a Presbyterian? Because I was born in Scotland. That’s the only reason I’ve been able to think of, and it doesn’t seem to me to be up to much.’ Alec was secretly shocked, though he thought it more manly not to show it. ‘I believe in the Bible,’ he said at last. ‘That doesna help you much,’ said Cameron, with some contempt. ‘Baptists, Independents, Episcopalians, the very Papists themsel’s, and thae half-heathen Russians, wad tell ye that they believe in the Bible. Ye micht as weel tell a judge, when he ca’ed on you for an argument, that ye believe in an Act o’ Parliament.’ ‘Hae ye an aitlas?’ he continued after a pause. ‘Here’s one.’ He turned to a ‘Mercator’s projection’ at the beginning of the volume, and scratched the spot which represented Scotland with his pencil. He then slightly shaded England, the United States, and Holland, and put in a few dots in Germany and Switzerland. ‘There!’ he said, as he pushed the map across the table; ‘that’s your Presbyterian notion o’ Christendom. There’s a glimmerin’ in England and the States, but only in bonny Scotland does the true licht shine full and fair. As for Germany, Holland, an’ Switzerland, they’re unco dry, no tae say deid branches. The rest o’ mankind--total darkness!’ ‘But you might have said the same thing of Christianity itself at one time, and of every religion in the world, for that matter,’ protested Alec. ‘Nae doot,’ retorted Cameron, ‘but that was at the beginning. This is Christianity, according to the gospel o’ John Knox and Company after nineteen centuries! A poor show for nineteen hunder’ years--a mighty poor show!’ He got up as he spoke, and knocking the ashes out of his pipe, prepared to move to his own quarters. ‘Let’s change the subject,’ said Alec. ‘Here’s a letter I got this morning, and I don’t know how to answer it.’ ‘What’s this?’ said the older man, taking the thick sheet of paper between the tips of his fingers. ‘“Mr. James Lindsay presents his compliments to Mr. Alexander Lindsay, and requests the pleasure of his company at dinner on Tuesday the 27th inst., at half-past six. Blythswood Square, December, 187-.” Is this old James Lindsay o’ Drumleck?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Are you a connection of his?’ ‘Grand-nephew.’ ‘And why can’t you answer the note?’ ‘I don’t want to go. I haven’t been brought up to this sort of thing, and I don’t care to go out of my way to make myself ridiculous in a rich man’s house. Besides, I don’t want to go to the expense of a suit of dress clothes. And then, my uncle and I were not particularly smitten with each other when I saw him last.’ ‘Don’t be a fool, Alec,’ said Cameron quietly. ‘You can’t afford to throw away the friendship of a man worth twenty thousand a year.’