‘Na, na, maister, there’s nae call to be angry,’ said John Macwhirter; ‘he’s a nasty cynical body, but this time it’s true. Naebody thought mair of the auld minister than me--this one could never hold the candle to him; but he wasna just the man for a young lass. And she’s but young for a’ that’s come and gane; and her lad’s come back----’ ‘How dare ye say such a word?’ cried the Dominie, enraged. ‘Eh, men, you’re no worthy to be called men, if a lassie like that, made a widow as she was, gets no reverence from ye! Poor bit gentle thing! her only protector gone, and nothing but an infant between her and despair ye may say. I wonder ye don’t think shame?’ ‘That’s a’ true, a’ true,’ said the smith; ‘but I ay stick up for justice. If Mrs. Lothian should be glad to see the lad she once likit, is that ony sin? Naebody was blaming her. No, no, maister, ye mustna go beyond nature. He was a good man and a clever man; but ye’re no so simple as to think that a bonnie young lass should be bound a’ her life because she was his wife for a year! Would that be reasonable? I’m no taking one side or another, but as Peter says, “What’s the harm?"’ ‘I ask ye what’s the evidence! which is more to the purpose?’ said the Dominie. ‘Weel, nae doubt it’s a slender foundation to build so much on,’ said John. ‘She’s been at Ardnamore the day, and she met him on the road. That’s all about it--nothing ye may say, but casting a seed into the ground. Eelin, the lass at Ardnamore, saw them talking, and she came on and tellt the wives; and the wives they’ve a’ made up their minds how it’s to be--ye canna stop the tongues of a wheen women. And I canna say it’s anything but natural if ye ask me mysel.’ ‘It would be hard to tell in what you’re better than the women, making a work about such childish clavers,’ said Mr. Galbraith with disdain. ‘Well we’re mair philosophical,’ said the smith; ‘they’re a’ at her like hens at a grosset, and no a civil word in their heads. I’m an awfu’ man for justice myself. A young lass is but a young lass if she was a widow twenty times over, and nae doubt before he did such a foolish thing the minister counted the cost, and kent weel that his young widow would wed some other man. Lord bless us it’s human nature! She’s no five-and-twenty yet. She’s no an auld wife to be content with her wean? It’s nature, just nature! I’m neither blaming her nor him.’ ‘I advise you to say no more about it, philosophical or no,’ said the Dominie; ‘there are lads and lasses enough in the parish without bringing in them that are out of your way. I say nothing for the rest--but, John Macwhirter, there are inklings of understanding about you, and I looked for better at your hand.’