far oot at the Gowden
Gate, an' it lookit like the crystal water ma een'll sune see."

Archie stopped, though apparently but little exhausted. His eyes seemed
flooded with tender memories of that momentous hour on the far distant
Pacific Coast.

"What psalm did you sing him?" I ventured, presently.

"It was a paraphrase," he answered, the smile still upon his face. "It
was the twenty-sixth:

"'Ho ye that thirst approach the spring
Where living waters flow,'

an' Andra grat like a bairn:

"'I haena heard it sin I ran barefit aboot the hills,' he said, an' he
wad hae me sing the lines ower again:

"'How long to streams of false delight
Will ye in crowds repair?'

an' I'm no' worthy, I ken, but I pit up a bit prayer wi' him--ye mauna
think I'm boastin', sir, but I brocht him to Christ, an' when I think
on't noo, it's lichtsome, an' I'm minded o' that simmer sun on the
Gowden Gate. Ye'll write to him an' tell him we'll sing a psalm
thegither yet."

My promise given and Andrew Mathieson's address taken, Archie lay silent
for a little time. Swift glances at myself, swiftly withdrawn, denoted
his desire to say something more. It came at length and with
unmistakable directness.

"I'm dootin' I've been wrang; mebbe I was 'righteous over-much.'"

"What is it, Archie?" I said soothingly. "Some sin? Or some mistake in
the days that are gone?"

"I'm no' sayin' it was the yin or the ither," replied the old precentor,
a familiar frosty flavour in his voice, "an' if it was, I'll no' confess
it to ony yin but God--but I'm misdootin' I was ower hard on the hymes."

"What hymns, Archie?" I asked, seeking only to make easier his
acknowledgment of error, ever difficult to Scottish lips. For, if the
truth were told, Scotchmen secretly divide sins into three classes,
those of omission, of commission, and of admission.

"Ye ken fine," he made reply, "div ye no' mind hoo Margaret an' Angus
Strachan compeared afore the Kirk Session wi' their prayer for man-made
hymes i' the kirk?"

"Yes, Archie, I remember--the Session denied their request."

Ah me, I thought, how much has befallen Margaret and Margaret's father
since that night!

"Ay, I ken that; an' I'm no' regrettin'--but I'm dootin' I was ower hard
on the hymes. My speerit was aye ower fiery for an elder. But King
Dauvit himsel' was mair fearsome than me wi' blasphemers--no' to ca'
Margaret yin; but I'm mindin' that the Maister aye took anither