the minister's new-fangled M.B. waistcoats, through the armholes of
which two very long arms escaped, clad as far as the elbows in the
sleeves of the pink bed-gown.

Happily the minister was wholly destitute of a sense of humour (and
therefore clearly marked for promotion in the Church); and the privation
stood him in good stead now. It only struck him as a little irregular to
be sitting in the study with a person so attired. But he thought to
himself--"After all, he may be one of My People."

"And what can I do for you?" he said kindly, when the Object was seated
opposite to him on the very edge of a large arm-chair, the pink arms
laid like weapons of warfare upon his knees, and the broad hands warming
themselves in a curious unattached manner at the fire.

"Ye see, sir," began the Object, "I am Seemion Gleg, an' I am ettlin' to
be a minister."

The Reverend Robert Ford Buchanan started. He came of a Levitical
family, and over his head there were a series of portraits of very
dignified gentlemen in extensive white neckerchiefs, his forebears and
predecessors in honourable office--a knee-breeched, lace-ruffled
moderator among them.

It was as if a Prince of the Blood had listened to some rudely
democratic speech from a waif of the causeway.

"A minister!" he exclaimed. Then, as a thought flashed across him--"Oh,
a Dissenting preacher!" he continued.

This would explain matters.

"Na, na," said Simeon Gleg; "nae Dissenter ava'. I'm for the Kirk
itsel'--the Auld Kirk or naething. That was the way my mither brocht me
up. An' I want to learn Greek an' Laitin. I hae plenty o' spare time,
an' my maister gies me a' the forenichts. I can learn at the peat fire
after the ither men are gane to their beds."

"Your master!" said the minister. "Do you mean your teacher?"

"Na, na," said Simeon Gleg; "I mean Maister Golder o' the Glaisters. I
serve there as plooman!"

"You!" exclaimed the minister, aghast. "How old may you be?"

"I'm gaun in my nineteenth year," said Simeon. "I'm no' big for my age,
I ken; but I can throw ony man that I get grups on, and haud ony beast
whatsomever. I can ploo wi' the best an' maw--Weel, I'm no' gaun to
brag, but ye can ask Maister Golder--that is an elder o' your ain, an'
comes at least twa Sabbaths afore every Communion to hear ye."

"But why do ye want to learn Greek and Latin?" queried the minister.

"Weel, ye see, sir," said Simeon Gleg, leaning forward to poke the manse
fire wit