some reason that I could never discover, the dominie had all his
life refused to teach his scholars geography. The Inspector and many
others asked him why there was no geography class, and his invariable
answer was to point to his pupils collectively, and reply in an
impressive whisper--

"They winna hae her."

This story, too, seems to reflect against the dominie's views on
cleanliness. One examination day the minister attended to open the
inspection with prayer. Just as he was finishing, a scholar entered
who had a reputation for dirt.

"Michty!" cried a little pupil, as his opening eyes fell on the
apparition at the door, "there's Jocky Tamson wi' his face washed!"

When the dominie was a younger man he had first clashed with the
minister during Mr. Rattray's attempts to do away with some old customs
that were already dying by inches. One was the selection of a queen of
beauty from among the young women at the annual Thrums fair. The
judges, who were selected from the better-known farmers as a rule, sat
at the door of a tent that reeked of whisky, and regarded the
competitors filing by much as they selected prize sheep, with a stolid
stare. There was much giggling and blushing on these occasions among
the maidens, and shouts from their relatives and friends to "Haud yer
head up, Jean," and "Lat them see yer een, Jess." The dominie enjoyed
this, and was one time chosen a judge, when he insisted on the prize's
being bestowed on his own daughter, Marget. The other judges demurred,
but the dominie remained firm and won the day.

"She wasna the best-faured amon them," he admitted afterwards, "but a
man maun mak the maist o' his ain."

The dominie, too, would not shake his head with Mr. Rattray over the
apple and loaf bread raffles in the smithy, nor even at the Daft Days,
the black week of glum debauch that ushered in the year, a period when
the whole countryside rumbled to the farmer's "kebec"-laden cart.

For the great part of his career the dominie had not made forty pounds
a year, but he "died worth" about three hundred pounds. The moral of
his life came in just as he was leaving it, for he rose from his
deathbed to hide a whisky bottle from his wife.

CHAPTER VII

CREE QUEERY AND MYSY DROLLY

The children used to fling stones at Grinder Queery because he loved
his mother. I never heard the Grinder's real name. He and his mother
were Queery and Drolly, contemptuously so called, and they an