Miss Christie looked at her tall friend, and a quizzical smile lurked at the corner of her rather dour mouth. "Ay, Elizabeth," she said, "you sound very humble, but I wouldn't like to buy you at your own valuation, my dear." Elizabeth put her hands on Christina's shoulders as she kissed her good-night. "You're a rude old Kirsty," she said, "but I dare say you're right." _CHAPTER VI_ "How now, sir? What are you reasoning with yourself? Nay, I was rhyming; 'tis you that have the reason." _Two Gentlemen of Verona_. About a fortnight later--it was Saturday afternoon--an April day strayed into November, and James Seton walked in his garden and was grateful. He had his next day's sermon in his hand and as he walked he studied it, but now and again he would lift his head to look at the blue sky, or he would stoop and touch gently the petals of a Christmas-rose, flowering bravely if sootily in the border. Behind the hedge, on the drying green, Thomas and Billy and Buff disported themselves. They had been unusually quiet, but now the sound of raised voices drew Mr. Seton to the scene of action. Looking over the hedge, he saw an odd sight. Thomas lay grovelling on the ground; Billy, with a fierce black moustache sketched on his cherubic face, sat on the roof of the ash-pit; while Buff, a bulky sack strapped on his back, struggled in the arms of Marget the cook. "Gie me that bag, ye ill laddie," she was saying. "What's the matter, Marget?" Mr. Seton asked mildly. Buff was butting Marget wildly with his head, but hearing his father's voice, he stopped to explain. "It's my sins, Father," he gasped. "It's naething o' the kind, sir; it's ma bag o' claes-pins. Stan' up, David, this meenit. D'ye no' see ye're fair scrapin' it i' the mud?" Thomas raised his head. "We're pilgrims, Mr. Seton," he explained. "I'm Hopeful, and Buff's Christian. This is me in Giant Despair's dungeon;" and he rolled on his face and realistically chewed the grass to show the extent of his despair. "But you've got your facts wrong," said Mr. Seton. "Christian has lost his load long before he got to Doubting Castle." "Then," said Buff, picking himself up and wriggling out of the straps which tied the bag to his person--"then, Marget, you can have your old clothes-pins." "Gently, my boy," said his father. "Hand the bag to Marget and say you're sorry." "Sorry, Marget," said Buff in a very casual tone, as he heaved the bag at her. Marget received it gloomily, prophesied the probable end of Buff, and went indoors. Buff joined Thomas in the dungeon of Doubting Castle. "Why is Billy sitting up there?" asked Mr. Seton. "He's Apollyon," said Thomas, "and he's coming down in a minute to straddle across the way. By rights, I should have been Apollyon----" Mr. Seton's delighted survey of the guileless fiend on the ash-pit roof was interrupted by Ellen, who came with a message that Mr. Stevenson had called and would Mr. Seton please go in.