and had
given her a tract to dine on. Ye see, I maun mak mysel' a _friend_ to
the folk first, before I can do them gude--I maun get to the heart o'
their troubles--an' troubles are plentiful in that quarter,--I maun live
among them, an' be ane o' them. I wad mind ye that Christ Himsel' gave
sympathy to begin with,--he did the preachin' afterwards."

"What a good fellow you are, Mac!" said Errington, suddenly seeing his
raw Scotch friend with the perverse accent, in quite a new and heroic
light.

Macfarlane actually blushed. "Nonsense, not a bit o't!" he declared
quite nervously. "It's just pure selfishness, after a'--for I'm simply
enjoyin' mysel' the hale day long. Last nicht, I found a wee cripple o'
a laddie sittin' by himsel' in the gutter, munchin' a potato skin. I just
took him,--he starin' an' blinkin' like an owl at me,--and carried him
into my room. There I gave him a plate o' barley broth, an' finished him
up wi' a hunk o' gingerbread. Ma certes! Ye should ha' seen the rascal
laugh. 'Twas better than lookin' at a play from a ten-guinea box on the
grand tier!"

"By Jove, Sandy, you're a brick!" cried Lorimer, laughing to hide a very
different emotion--"I had no idea you were that sort of chap."

"Nor had I," said Macfarlane quite simply--"I never fashed mysel' wi'
thinkin' o' ither folks troubles at a'--I never even took into
conseederation the meanin' o' the Testament teachings till--I saw your
leddy wife, Errington." He paused a moment, then added gravely--"Yes--and
I've aften fancied she maun be a real live angel,--an' I've sought
always to turn my hand to something useful and worth the doin',--ever
since I met her."

"I'll tell her so," said poor Philip, his heart aching for his lost love
as he spoke, though he smiled. "It will give her pleasure to hear it."

Macfarlane blushed again like any awkward schoolboy.

"Oh, I dinna ken aboot that!" he said hurriedly. "She's just a grand
woman anyway." Then, bethinking himself of another subject, he asked,
"Have you heard o' the Reverend Mr. Dyceworthy lately?"

Errington and Lorimer replied in the negative.

Macfarlane laughed--his eyes twinkled. "It's evident ye never read
police reports," he said--"Talk o' misters,--he's a pretty specimen!
He's been hunted out o' his place in Yorkshire for carryin' on
love-affairs wi' the women o' his congregation. One day he locked
himsel' in the vestry wi' the new-married wife o' one o' his preencipal
supporters--an