"Well--merged," said Elizabeth. "It's very obscure," complained Arthur. "But it is absurd to pretend that I know nothing of Scotland. I once stayed nearly three weeks in Skye." "And," put in Mr. Seton, "the man who knows his Scott knows much of Scotland. I only wish Elizabeth knew him as you do. I believe that girl has never read one novel of Sir Walter's to the end." "Dear Father," said Elizabeth, "I adore Sir Walter, but he shouldn't have written in such small print. Besides, thanks to you, I know heaps of quotations, so I can always make quite a fair show of knowledge." Mr. Seton groaned. "You're a frivolous creature," he said, "and extraordinarily ignorant." "Yes," said his daughter, "I'm just, as someone said, 'a little brightly-lit stall in Vanity Fair'--all my goods in the shop-window. I suppose," turning to Mr. Stevenson, "you have read all Scott?" "Not quite all, perhaps, but a lot," said that gentleman. "Yes, I had no real hope that you hadn't. But I maintain that the knowledge you gain about people from books is a very queer knowledge. In books and in plays about Scotland you get the idea that we 'pech' and we 'hoast,' and talk constantly about ministers, and hoard our pennies. Now we are not hard as a nation----" "Pardon me," broke in Arthur, "the one Scots story known to all Englishmen seems to point to a certain carefulness----" "You mean," cried Elizabeth, interrupting in her turn, "that stupid tale, 'Bang gaed sixpence'? But you know the end of the tale? I thought not. _'Bang gaed sixpence, maistly on wines and cigars.'_ The honest fellow was treating his friends." Arthur shouted with laughter, but presently returned to the charge. "But you can't deny your fondness for ministers, or at least for theological discussion, Elizabeth?" "Lizbeth!" said her father, "fond of ministers? This is surely a sign of grace." "Father," said Elizabeth earnestly, "I'm not. You know I'm not. Ministers! I know all kinds of them, and I don't know which I like least. There are the smug complacent ones with sermons like prize essays, and the jovial, back-slapping ones who talk slang and hope thus to win the young men. Then there is a genteel kind with long, thin fingers and literary leanings who read the Revised Version and talk about 'a Larger Hope'; and the kind who have damp hands and theological doubts--the two always seem to go together, and----" "That will do, Lizbeth," broke in Mr. Seton. "It's a deplorable thing to hear a person so far from perfect dealing out criticism so freely." "Oh," said his daughter, "I am only talking about _young_ ministers. Old, wise padres, full of sincerity and simplicity and all the crystal virtues, I adore." "Have you any more tea?" asked Mr. Seton. "I don't think I've had more than three cups." "Four, I'm afraid," said Elizabeth; "but there's lots here."