ibute to the ecclesiastical gifts of Doctor Dowbiggin and the clerk
of the Presbytery of Muirtown.

LIGHT AT EVENTIDE

The Rabbi had been careful to send an abstract of his speech to
Carmichael, with a letter enough to melt the heart even of a
self-sufficient young clerical, and Carmichael had considered how he
should bear himself at the Presbytery. His intention had been to meet
the Rabbi with public cordiality and escort him to a seat, so that all
men should see that he was too magnanimous to be offended by this
latest eccentricity of their friend. This calculated plan was upset by
the Rabbi coming in late and taking the first seat that offered, and
when he would have gone afterwards to thank him for his generosity the
Rabbi had disappeared. It was evident that the old man's love was as
deep as ever, but that he was much hurt and would not risk another
repulse. Very likely he had walked in from Kilbogie, perhaps without
breakfast, and had now started to return to his cheerless manse. It
was a wetting spring rain, and he remembered that the Rabbi had no
coat. A fit of remorse overtook Carmichael, and he scoured the streets
of Muirtown to find the Rabbi, imagining deeds of attention--how he
would capture him unawares mooning along some side street hopelessly
astray; how he would accuse him of characteristic cunning and deep
plotting; how he would carry him by force to the Kilspindie Arms and
insist upon their dining in state; how the Rabbi would wish to
discharge the account and find twopence in his pockets--having given
all his silver to an ex-Presbyterian minister stranded in Muirtown
through peculiar circumstances; how he would speak gravely to the Rabbi
on the lack of common honesty, and threaten a real prosecution, when
the charge would be "obtaining a dinner on false pretences"; how they
would journey to Kildrummie in high content, and--the engine having
whistled for a dogcart--they would drive to Drumtochty manse, the sun
shining through the rain as they entered the garden; how he would
compass the Rabbi with observances, and the old man would sit again in
the big chair full of joy and peace. Ah, the kindly jests that have
not come off in life, the gracious deeds that never were done, the
reparations that were too late! When Carmichael reached the station
the Rabbi was already half-way to Kilbogie, trudging along wet, and
weary, and very sad, because, although he had obeyed his conscience at
a cos