boy's no' partial-like to
ministers--ye'll excuse me for sayin'--ever since he fell oot wi' the
minister's loon, and staned him aff the Drumquhat grund. Saunders lickit
him for that, an' so he tak's the road if ever a minister looks near.
But gin ye come on him afore he can make the Hanging Shaw, ye may get
speech o' him, and be the means o' doing him a heap o' guid."

At this point their ways parted. The minister held on up the valley of
the Ken, curving over the moorland towards the farm of Drumquhat. He
went more leisurely now that he had broken the back of his morning's
walk. The larks sprang upward from his feet, and their songs were the
expression of an innocent gladness like that which filled his own heart.

He climbed the high stone dykes as they came in his way, sometimes
crossing his legs and sitting a while on the top with a sort of boyish
freedom in his heart as though he too were off for a holiday--a feeling
born in part of the breezy uplands and the wide spaces of the sky. On
his right hand was the dark mass of the Hanging Shaw, where it began to
feather down to the Black Water, which rushed along in the shadow to
meet the broad and equable waters of the Ken.

As the minister came to one of these dykes, treading softly on a
noiseless cushion of heather and moss, he put his foot on a projecting
stone and vaulted over with one hand lightly laid on the top stone. He
alighted with a sudden bound of the heart, for he had nearly leapt on
the top of a boy, who lay prone on his face, deeply studying a book. The
boy sprang up, startled by the minister's unexpected entrance into his
wide world of air, empty of all but the muirfowls' cries.

For a few moments they remained staring at each other--tall,
well-attired minister and rough-coated herdboy.

"You are diligent," at last said the minister, looking out of his dark
eyes into the blue wondering orbs which met his so squarely and
honestly. "What is that you are reading?"

"Shakespeare, sir," said the boy, not without some fear in telling the
minister that he was reading the works of the man who was known among
many of the Cameronians as "nocht but the greatest of the play-actors."

But the minister was placable and interested. He recognised the face as
that of the boy who came to church on various occasions; but with whom
he had found it so difficult to come to speech.

"How many plays of Shakespeare have you read?" queried the minister
again.

"Them a'--