His opinion did not alter when he found himself seated at the well-laden table in the big spotless dining room. He could not help contrasting the stiff formality with the ease and gaiety of the Hamilton household. Old Andrew sat, stern and dignified, at the head of the table. Ordinarily he was talkative, but on this evening he restrained himself, for a gentleman of the old school did not consider it good manners to talk too much in the presence of so superior a person as the minister. At the other end of the table Mrs. Johnstone, red-faced and anxious, bustled nervously with the new china cups and saucers. Beside the minister sat Janet, the only daughter, a fair, shy girl of sixteen, afraid to look up, and the son of the house sat opposite in his shirtsleeves responding to Mr. Egerton's friendly advances with monosyllabic answers, a puzzling contrast to his uproarious geniality at their former meetings. Of course, John Egerton could not guess that the young man was holding down his laughter by superhuman efforts and could not afford to waste any strength upon conversation. There was a very depressing atmosphere over the whole table, but the visitor had plenty of tact to overcome it. He put Mrs. Johnstone at her ease by a cautiously worded compliment upon the repast, for he had learned that a true Scotch woman must ever be approached warily with flattery. He set Janet into a flutter of happiness by relating to her a humourous account of some of his sister's attempts at housekeeping, an art in which Janet was well versed, and he soon had her laughing at the city girl's mistakes with quite a feeling of superiority. Wee Andra was more difficult,--horses, foot-ball, farm work, music, he rose to none of these baits. But he came to life in a most surprising manner when, in dilating upon the beauties of Glenoro scenery, the minister happened to mention the enjoyment he had experienced in his afternoon walk up the green slopes. This seemed to be the one topic in which the son of the house was interested. He looked up suddenly and remarked, "Awful quiet road; s'pose you didn't meet anybody?" "Yes, I did meet a man," responded the other readily, glad at having made an impression at last, "a man named McBess or some such name." "McBeth it would be," said old Andrew, "Allister McBeth,--Catchach they call him. He's a danderin' bit o' a firebrand." "Were you speakin' to him?" Wee Andra shot out the question and took refuge in a huge gulp of tea. John Egerton glanced across the table quickly. He was beginning to suspect that Donald Neil's chum had had a hand in this childish affair, but he was too wise to show any annoyance.