his office, jealous of
its dignity, and strenuous in his opposition to all innovations in
connection with the Service of Praise. He was especially opposed to
the introduction of those "new-fangled ranting" tunes which were
being taught the young people by John "Alec" Fraser in the weekly
singing-school in the Nineteenth, and which were sung at Mrs. Murray's
Sabbath evening Bible class in the Little Church. Straight Rory had been
educated for a teacher in Scotland, and was something of a scholar.
He loved school examinations, where he was the terror of pupils and
teachers alike. His acute mind reveled in the metaphysics of theology,
which made him the dread of all candidates who appeared before the
session desiring "to come forward." It was to many an impressive sight
to see Straight Rory rise in the precentor's box, feel round, with much
facial contortion, for the pitch--he despised a tuning-fork--and then,
straightening himself up till he bent over backwards, raise the chant
that introduced the tune to the congregation. But to the young men under
the gallery he was more humorous than impressive, and it is to be feared
that they waited for the precentor's weekly performance with a delighted
expectation that never flagged and that was never disappointed. It was
only the flash of the minister's blue eye that held their faces rigid
in preternatural solemnity, and forced them to content themselves with
winks and nudges for the expression of their delight.

As Maimie's eye went wandering shyly over the rows of brown faces that
turned in solemn and steadfast regard to the minister's pew, Hughie
nudged her and whispered: "There's Don. See, in the back seat by the
window, next to Peter Ruagh yonder; the red-headed fellow."

He pointed to Peter McRae, grandson of "Peter the Elder." There was no
mistaking that landmark.

"Look," cried Hughie, eagerly, pointing with terrible directness
straight at Don, to Maimie's confusion.

"Whisht, Hughie," said his mother softly.

"There's Ranald, mother," said the diplomatic Hughie, knowing well that
his mother would rejoice to hear that bit of news. "See, mother, just in
front of Don, there."

Again Hughie's terrible finger pointed straight into the face of the
gazing congregation.

"Hush, Hughie," said his mother, severely.

Maimie knew a hundred eyes were looking straight at the minister's pew,
but for the life of her she could not prevent her eye following the
pointing finger, t