"I'm thinking it's a guid change we have made fra the last He has a gift, the minister," said Geordie.

man.

He was powerfu' hard on the cushions," said Elspeth. be needin' ithers gin he chastens them so sair."

"Ay, he has a gift, has he no, David?"

"We'll

"Mabbe so, mabbe no," said David, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand: Kirsty having passed him with her head high, on account of Elspeth Mackay standing beside him. Elspeth wasna kin to Geordie, though she bore the same name.

“I took vera weel wi' his gien' oot o' the hymns," said Elspeth. "I can aye tell by that what spirit a man is of."

"I ken better by his shirt-front," said Widdy Rafe. ness is next to godliness, if no before it."

"Cleanli

And indeed to see the widdy you would have thought it was before it. And many a time William Rafe had wished that text out of print, his life being a burden to him with clean collars and the starch in his Sabbath shirt.

But it was the town's talk that his mother said there was aye hope of a man's soul so long as his body was keppit fair. "He pit a saxpence i' the plate," said David.

I was expectin' a shilling fra the new minister."

"I'm no sure but

"Ay, he's mair Scotch than English," said Elspeth. "Were you noticing the sprinkle o' snuff on his weskit, mem?"

Widdy Rafe didna answer, not liking Elspeth to know her sight was none so good as it might be.

"Could you tell me wha wrote that fine rhyme fra Cowper that he quoted at the end?" she speired to take Elspeth down, and being awful proud of her book learning.

"Na, mem," said Elspeth, puir body; "I dinna mind o't just the noo."

Weel, weel," said Geordie; "he's got awful big feet."

Eh, deary, deary! Do you hear him, David? the minister's gotten big feet," Elspeth called.

"And why for no?" said Widdy Rafe very short. wi' small feet never has muckle at ether end o' him."

"A man

"And what about a woman?" said Geordie, very bold; for he kenned weel that Widdy Rafe had the biggest foot in Skyrle. But, however, she took no notice of the laddie.

"Weel, Elspeth, I'll haud hame wi' you," she said; "for my Wullie is to tak his diet at the manse the day."

"At the manse? wi' the minister?" said Elspeth very slow, as was natural, thinking of William Rafe getting his dinner with the minister.

"Ay," said the widdy, as if she was no caring to be proud about it. "He was bidden yestreen after helping Kirsty unpack the kists. The manse will be a sicht the day wi' all the braw things intil it. I doot he'll no get his meat for looking at them."

There's naething i' the manse bonnier than the minister's lassie," said Geordie.

But he got fine and red when Widdy Rafe turned on him.

"Ca' canny, laddie, and tak tent o' your steps, for be a man's feet great or sma' they're swift to follow where a lassie leads." Surely that was a sair thing to say to a young lad that was happy, not knowing the ways of womenfolk.

Just then the manse gate opened, and out came the little doggieshaking his hair, and awful delighted to be going out; and Miss Isobel after him, a slip of a lassie with big, shining eyes, and yellow hair tumbled about her like the doggie's. They had surely forgotten it was the Sabbath; or, maybe, being English, they didna rightly know to keep the day; but, I can tell you, the sight of the young things as bright and gladsome as gin it was a Monday gave Widdy Rafe such a shock that she never forgot it. To think of the minister's daughter setting such an example to the town, with her eyes and hair and feet dancing on the Sabbath, and the doggie's with her.

The lassie flashed past us and out at the gate before a word could be said; and then out came the minister. How noble he was, with his white hair and grand head, his kindly eyes, and his smile that was like a bow from royalty! And how awful proud Elspeth was when he took a kiss from her wee Eppie and bade her be a good girl, seeking in his pocket for a sweetie to her. She was just delighted, and ceased envying William Rafe, who stood by wearing gloves and feeling as gin he was all hands.

He was a nice lad, William, not over bold; and it seemed a great thing for him to be walking out with Mr. Grahame, explain-ing church matters to him.

And, indeed, he kenned more about the little church John Wesley had built than any other body in Skyrle. He led the minister out by the Abbey burying-ground to show him where the table monument was on which Wesley had stood to preach his first sermon in the town. And delighted was Mr. Grahame to hear how Wesley had stoppit the mouth of the parish: minister who was for holding him from preaching in his parish. "No, no," said Wesley; "my parish is that of my Master, and is anywhere under the blue skies where there is a hungry soul desiring the Bread of Life. Go you back to your manse and takeanother sleep in your arm-chair by the fire."

At which the folk were very well pleased; it being known that the parish minister thought more of keeping himself warm in this life than of keeping his flock from being too warm in the next.

He could make no answer, the people being all for hearing the strange English preacher; and he had to leave him to his sermon, after Wesley had challenged him to a debate in John Gouck'sbarn the morrow's morn. The which they had; but the parish minister lost his hold on doctrine, and couldna argue with Wesley, the wee mannie being as nimble with his tongue as with his legs. They didna stop long in the Abbey, Miss Isobel being fain to have a sight of the sea: so William led them across the green and along Ponderlaw till they got out by the brae heads. There was the sea before them as blue as ever 'tis seen, and they standing by the yellow field where the corn was waiting for the sickle.

The minister lifted his hat, and his lips moved; but Miss Isobel just lookit at William with the tears standing in her big eyes, as you have seen the dew spread on the blue corncockles in hairst.

"Do you no take well with it, Miss Grahame?" said William, speaking English very grand.

"It is not that," said Miss Isobel, her voice like the wind sighing through the corn; "but it is so beautiful. I never thought there was anything so lovely."

"Ay, ay, it's well enough," said William.

And indeed it might have been worse.

Out of the blue waves rose the white pillar of the Bell light, like an angel guarding the coast; and the sunshine on it gave it wings shining like the lids of Kirsty's saucepans.

South of the harbour you could glimpse a flash of gold from the Eyelot sands, and the bonnie purple hills at the river mouth beyond.

The gray stones of the harbour wall I aye liked, they being a sort of colour that led the eye to the dark rocks on the shore and the red cliffs rising above them. It was no wonder that the red and the blue, the silver and the gold, and the white clouds like a lifted veil above it all, should have made the lassie greet. But the minister finished his prayer, and William keeked around at her as gin he thought no ower muckle of the landscape beside Miss Isobel.

If Geordie Mackay, who is a bit of a poet, had been there, I ken fine he'd have said the slim girlie standing on the edge of the brae was like the spirit of the place; for her gold hair and red cheeks, blue eyes and white skin, had all the colours that were in the picture before them.

But though William felt the resemblance he couldna put it into words; but his breast thumped like John Gouck's drum at the volunteers' drill, and for the first time in his life he saw a lassie with the eyes of his heart.

And this made him stand very foolish-like, wishing sore he hadna putten on the gloves that took the manhood out of him.

And Kirsty telled me afterwards how Miss Isobel won home and laughed with the doggie Skye about the Scotchman that hadna ony eye for beauty.

CHAPTER II.-JEAN'S LAD.

Kirsty, at the manse, always said that Jean had no right to burden herself with Nancy Mullholland's bairn. A young thing like her, she was fifteen just, wasn't the right sort of mother for a week-old baby.

But eh, you never can tell when the mother grows in the lassie. I have seen the girlies with their dolls, nursing them and holding the wooden heads close to their innocent little bosoms, till I have been like to greet.

And Jean was that sort of lassie always. Before she was ten there wasn't a woman in Skyrle but was glad to have her mind the bairns; all, I should say, but Kirsty, who did not think a woman could be motherly till she was a mother; and who was aye for having nature go in harness, and would fain have had the reins in her own hands.

But I never took well with such like notions. Marriages may or may not be made in heaven; but I am right sure mothers are made there whenever a woman child is born. And so I told Kirsty; for though a woman has her hands full of bairns she's no more a mother than many a childless creature whose heart is ready to take in every little helpless bairn that comes into the world.

And Jean Wishart was one of that sort.

You could tell it by the way she took Nancy Mullholland's babe from its mother, and held it with her cheek bent down against the little red face.

"The wee thingie!" she said, crying and laughing at once. "She's no to go to the poor's house. Rest your mind, Nancy; she shall be my own bairn; and I'll be a mither to her sae lang as God spares me."

Jean was tall and womanly, though she was a young thing; and she had lived so long by hersel' that she was douce like and sensible beyond her years; and none grumbled at her taking the bairn home to do for it but Kirsty. And I know fine what made Kirsty talk that gait. If a woman's ever angered at another, it's when she sees that other doing the duty that she had ought to do herself. And Kirsty was like to be sharp on Jean; for she was own aunt to Nancy, and should have taken the bairn home hersel'. She saw her duty clear, and it made her grudging-like to Jean when she met the lassie, with her face all red and proud, in Anderson's, buying a long gown to the bairn instead of a new hat to herself. And it did more, for it kept her from the kirk the Sabbath the babe was baptized; though she put it down to spasms from fine bread at Elspeth Mackay's the night before.

And sorry I was for Kirsty to have missed seeing the baptism, for I'm sure a prettier sight hadna been in the kirk since it was built a hundred years ago.

Mr. Grahame gave out the hymn, "See Israel's gentle Shepherd stands," and the church officer, Kirsty's David, rose and opened the vestry door.

Miss Isobel, the minister's little daughter, who thought a sight of Jean, had slipped out of the manse pew and gone round to the vestry before that; and when David opened the door, out she came with her eyes all shining and excited, walking beside Jean, who carried Nancy Mullholland's bairn.

When Mr. Grahame walked down the pulpit steps, and stood with his white hair before the two young things for Miss Isobel was younger than Jean-many a one sobbed aloud, it was so pitiful to see the two lassies and the little motherless bairn waiting for the old man's blessing.

William Rae was new to the organ then; and being always tender, his eyes got so dim that he lost his place, and would have broken down, only Geordie Mackay took up the hymn and carried it on to the end.

Miss Isobel stood with her cheeks very red looking up at the minister. But Jean had a kind of hush on her face, and while she held the baby her eyes stared straight up over the pulpit at the window with the stained glass. It was Miss Isobel who gave the name "Nannie" very loud, so that all could hear: and the minister lifted the little thing in his arms in the English fashion, and put his hand on her.

Then he gave her back to Jean; and as she took her the sun struck through the window and laid a slant of gold across the baby's forehead.

It was Geordie Mackay who noticed this, and he told Kirsty afterwards it was a token for good. But, eh deary me! who could believe that when the baby got up and was just the naughtiest slip of a lassie that ever wore a woman out?-but I'm no to tell of that yet.

Kirsty always held to it that it was a judgment on Jean for rushing into the duties of a mother before she was called; and, indeed, it seemed a strange providence that it was that very Sabbath Willie Murgatroyd came walking into Skyrle bent on offering her marriage.

But I often think the ways of Providence are like a rainbow, for we canna see them unless the sun is shining; and many a time they are only half-drawn on the clouds, with the end too far off for our faith to follow it.

Willie and Jean had courted since the time they were at school together; but he had been staying in the south seeking work, and so he had never heard a word of Nancy Mullholland's death, and the way Jean had taken in the bairn.

He went along the High Street, nodding bashful-like to one and another as he passed, and turned down Seagate to the house by the shore where she stayed.

He was so full of what he had to say to her that it gave him a turn when, near by the railings, Kirsty plucked at his coat-tail. She was no very well pleased at having missed the baptism that made the talk of the town, and she had led David out by the shore to hear what she could from Jean hersel'.

When she set eyes on Willie she had as much as she could do to keep her tongue from the subject; but she knew he was Jean's lad and she was no minded to let him see that David knew more of the matter than herself.

"Aweel, Wullie, and are you to call for Jean the day?" she askit him.

"Ou ay," said Willie sheepish-like, turning his face away. for he felt as if everybody in Skyrle could read his errand on it.

Weel, Wullie, I'm doubting you'll no tak weel wi' what Jean has to tell you," Kirsty said, edging along the subject as you'll see a crab edge along the waves when the tide's coming in.