To Donald Neil the new arrangement was anything but pleasing. He never seemed to be able to see Jessie any more. She was always trying over some new songs with the minister or reading a book he had given her, or in consultation with him over their preparations for the picnic. Donald's opinion of his pastor was not improved by this. He was too jealous to be quite impartial in his judgment and, therefore, did not realise that his rival was more careless than culpable. Donald's conception of a minister heretofore had been the Glenoro ideal, heightened by Duncan Polite's teachings,--a holy man, set apart from ordinary humanity for the Lord's special work. John Egerton was a revelation to him. Was this the sort of man his uncle worshipped? he asked himself. Was this the sort of man he was to emulate? He concluded by deciding that if John Egerton was a good sample of the ministry, then Donald McDonald would have nothing to do with the profession. Meanwhile, John Egerton went happily on his way, all unconscious that he was doing any harm. As the date of the picnic approached he found, to his intense amusement, that there was still another faction in Glenoro church. This one was not at all formidable, however, for it was neither religious nor national, but merely culinary and geographical, namely, a strong rivalry in the production of pies and cakes between the matrons north of Glenoro and those beyond the southern hill. It broke out violently twice a year, at the first of July picnic and at the New Year's tea-meeting. When the date of these functions drew near, it was the custom for the North to muster their forces at the house of Andrew Johnstone, while the South flocked to their standard at Donald Fraser's and each made stupendous efforts to out-bake the other. But very rarely was there an advantage on either side. If one party got ahead of the other by so much as a cookie at one festivity, the defeated were sure to produce some unheard-of ammunition at the next. One New Year's Eve the South came charging up with thirty different varieties of pie, causing rout and dismay in the ranks of the enemy. But on the next Dominion Day the North responded gallantly with an eleven-story iced cake looking like a triumphal monument to celebrate their victory, and the balance of power was restored. This summer, with the inspiring presence of the new minister, efforts were redoubled and for several days before the picnic the houses of the Johnstones and the Frasers were turned into bake-shops, and pies and cookies and tarts and story cakes were produced in such quantities and with such elaboration that the producers themselves were rather alarmed.