nt. 'No' anither sup till the windie's in,' he
thought to himself.

'Well, Minister,' said his guest with resignation, as he rose slowly up
from his chair, 'I'll go back, but keep a close tongue, ye ken.'

'I'm used to daein' that,' replied the other, as he ushered his guest
out into the darkness, and led him back to the 'Wool Pack' without
mishap.

On his return the Minister paused by the kirk yett, and thus
soliloquised:

'I never cared muckle for that camsterie goat o' Ringan's, but he wis
gey useful the nicht there's no denyin', whilst as for auld cuddy, dod!
but he was in fell voice, an' cam in punctual as the precentor.' The
Reverend Alexander Macgregor thrust out an arm on high, turned about on
heel and toe, as though to secret piping. Then he resumed his way to the
manse, pondering now what should be the subject of the stained-glass
window. Suddenly he stood stock still. He had it! 'It wull represent
Palm Sunday--the entry of our Lord intil the Holy Ceety--_ridin' in on
an ass_.'

[Footnote: 1 'Parcy Reed,' the hero of the well-known ballad, was foully
slain in Bakinghope above Catcleugh Lough, but his wraith is said to
haunt the Rede and to be visible about Rochester.]

ELDER 'MACHIAVELLI-ER'

I

On the evening after the stained-glass 'windie' had been set up in the
new kirk and dedicated to the memory of Saint Cuthbert, the Reverend
Alexander Macgregor and his elder, Ringan Telfer, the ancient 'herd,'
sat together in the manse's little 'sanctum' or library, enjoying a
'crack,' a glass of whisky, and a pipe of tobacco.

'It's a gey an' useful thing a ghaist,' said Ringan meditatively. 'It
fleys folk fine an' stirs up their conscience graund. I aince thocht I
caught a keek o' "Parcy" mysel', but I wasna muckle gliffed, for though
I ken fine I'm a sinner, I've naethin' particular on my conscience.

'Mind ye, I dinna ken whether 'twas a wraith I saw or no--for I'd been
first footin', ye ken, an' maybe I had a wee drappie i' my e'e.'

'Gey an' likely,' assented the Minister, nodding his head
sympathetically, and drawing deep upon his pipe.

'Onnyway, naethin' came o't,' continued Ringan, imbibing thoughtfully
from his glass, 'but what I'm thinkin' the noo is that aiblins anither
ghaist-gliff micht do a body I ken o' a guid turn.'

'There's many a body that micht be the better of a bit "gliff," but it
disna always last, and it's a daungerous game to play at. But wha is the
body?' inquired th