approached.

"Ah, those foolish lads, hoots, toots, what a noise!" said Duncan
apologetically, for he recognised Donald's voice and Sandy's, too, in
the uproarious shouts of laughter.

But as they came nearer the smile faded from John Egerton's face. He
caught the word Catchach, and suddenly the whole truth flashed upon
him. Wee Andra had witnessed the meeting of that afternoon and was
giving to the Neil boys what they apparently considered a
side-splitting description of the affair. All his ministerial dignity
rose to meet the insult.

Sandy's voice could be heard distinctly above the others, interspersed
with convulsive haw haws.

"Great snakes! You did it that time, Don! Bet it scared next Sunday's
sermon clean out o' his head!"

Then Wee Andra's deep voice, "Jimminy! It was a better show than all
the monkeys at the circus!"

"Was he scared?" It was Donald Neil who dared to ask that question.

"Looked mighty skittish for a minit, but I was weepin' that hard I
couldn't see very good. Catchach swore like a trooper. I could tell
that by the way he was grinnin', but the fearful pity was neither me
nor his Reverence could understand it!"

They went off again with such utter abandon that Duncan feared the
minister might be shocked by such uproarious behaviour on the public
road. He did not at all comprehend the meaning of their conversation
himself, in fact he scarcely listened to it, so eagerly was he watching
for Donald.

The noisy crowd passed the house, and one tall figure detached itself
from the group and, swinging open the gate, came up the path. Donald
never forgot to give his uncle a call, as he passed on his way to the
Glen. Duncan rose in a tremor of joy. He did not notice that his
nephew gave a start at the sight of the minister. Mr. Egerton rose
also and for an instant the two young men looked into each other's eyes
with an expression of anything but amity.

"Oh and it will be you, Donal'," cried the old man in a voice which
trembled with pleasure. "Here is the minister come to call."

Donald came forward, clinging desperately to the forlorn hope that the
conversation had not been overheard.

"Good evening, Mr. Egerton," he said in a rather constrained voice,
holding out his hand; but the other young man did not seem to notice;
perhaps the dusk accounted for his mistake.

"Good evening, Mr. McDonald," he said stiffly. "I have remained rather
long," he continued, speaking to Du