"Babbie, Babbie," exclaimed Nanny, with spirit, "may I never be so far left to mysel' as to change my kirk just because I like another minister better! It's easy seen, lassie, that you ken little o' religious questions." "Very little," Babbie admitted, sadly. "But dinna ba so waeful about it," the old woman continued, kindly, "for that's no nane like you. Ay, and if you see muckle mair o' Mr. Dishart he'll soon cure your ignorance." "I shall not see much more of him," Babbie answered, with averted head. "The like o' you couldna expect it," Nanny said, simply, whereupon Babbie went to the window. "I had better be stepping," Nanny said, rising, "for I am aye late unless I'm on the hill by the time the bell begins. Ay, Babbie, I'm doubting my merino's no sair in the fashion?" She looked down at her dress half despondently, and yet with some pride. "It was fowerpence the yard, and no less," she went on, fondling the worn merino, "when we bocht it at Sam'l Curr's. Ay, but it has been turned sax times since syne." She sighed, and Babbie came to her and put her arms round her, saying, "Nanny, you are a dear." "I'm a gey auld-farrant-looking dear, I doubt," said Nanny, ruefully. "Now, Nanny," rejoined Babbie, "you are just wanting me to flatter you. You know the merino looks very nice." "It's a guid merino yet," admitted the old woman, "but, oh, Babbie, what does the material matter if the cut isna fashionable? It's fine, isn't it, to be in the fashion?" She spoke so wistfully that, instead of smiling, Babbie kissed her. "I am afraid to lay hand on the merino, Nanny, but give me off your bonnet and I'll make it ten years younger in as many minutes." "Could you?" asked Nanny, eagerly, unloosening her bonnet-strings. "Mercy on me!" she had to add; "to think about altering bonnets on the Sabbath-day! Lassie, how could you propose sic a thing?" "Forgive me, Nanny," Babbie replied, so meekly that the old woman looked at her curiously. "I dinna understand what has come ower you," she said. "There's an unca difference in you since last nicht. I used to think you were mair like a bird than a lassie, but you've lost a' your daft capers o' singing and lauching, and I take ill wi't. Twa or three times I've catched you greeting. Babbie, what has come ower you?" "Nothing, Nanny. I think I hear the bell." Down in Thrums two kirk-officers had let their bells loose, waking echoes in Windyghoul as one dog in country parts sets all the others barking, but Nanny did not hurry off to church. Such a surprising notion had filled her head suddenly that she even forgot to hold her dress off the floor. "Babbie," she cried, in consternation, "dinna tell me you've gotten ower fond o' Mr. Dishart." "The like of me, Nanny!" the gypsy answered, with affected raillery, but there was a tear in her eye. "It would be a wild, presumptious thing," Nanny said, "and him a grand minister, but--"