y wes too weak to fast sae lang."

Besides the Ardmuirland district, the priest had charge of two others
at some little distance over the hills in different directions. It was
his duty to say Mass at one or other of these stations occasionally,
and the Ardmuirland folk who could conveniently manage the journey
would generally accompany him on a Sunday. They would walk over the
hill in a kind of unorganized procession, reciting the Rosary and
litany as they went.

During the week the priest kept daily moving about among his people,
and little of interest could happen which did not soon come to his
knowledge. "The fowk aye enjoyit a chat wi' the priest," said Bell,
"for Mr. McGillivray wes the best oot at tellin' auld-fashioned
stories." His figure was a familiar one in all the countryside, as he
walked slowly along, leaning on his silver-mounted walking-stick, and
wrapped in the ample folds of a well-worn Spanish cloak, buckled at the
neck by a silver clasp. Under that same cloak he would often carry
tit-bits of oatcake for the horses he might come across in the farms he
visited--for he was a lover of all dumb creatures.

Mr. McGillivray's only outdoor recreation was fishing. Children knew
his ways, and would shyly steal after him down to the side of the burn
and watch him from a distance. When his rod happened to get caught in
the branches of the stunted birches which bordered the stream--which
was not of infrequent occurrence--they would run to his assistance and
help to untangle the hook; they would often search for and carry to him
worms to serve as bait. Both kinds of service were sure to be rewarded
by a piece of "black sugar," as Bell styled licorice, which he always
carried with him for use in such emergencies.

"We bairns," she explained, "were niver feared o' the priest. I weel
remember hoo my mither chided me for usin' sic freedom wi' him--I had
lived sae lang in the hoose wi' him, ye ken, that I wes whiles gey
familiar in my speech. Well, when he askit me one day--juist as a
joke, ye ken--to tak' a snuff oot o' the wee boxie he aye carrit, I
tossit my head and said (ill bred as I wes!), 'Fuich!' Mr. McGillivray
wesna' angered; he juist laughed oot an' says he: 'Weel, lassie, ye
couldna' ha' said worse to a dog!' But I got mair words frae my mither
aifter, an' a strappin' as weel, an' to bed wi'oot supper. It learned
me to be mair respectful-like to the priest!"

This anecdote recalled anothe