the
lid ower him? Do ye believe that, Thamas Crann?"

"Na, na, George, man. Ye ken little what ye're busiest sayin'. It'll be
a glorifeed body that he'll rise wi'. It's sown in dishonour, and
raised in glory. Hoot! hoot! ye _are_ ignorant, man!"

Macwha got more nettled still at his tone of superiority.

"Wad it be a glorifeed timmer-leg he rase wi', gin he had been buried
wi' a timmer-leg?" asked he.

"His ain leg wad be buried some gait."

"Ow ay! nae doubt. An' it wad come happin' ower the Paceefic, or the
Atlantic, to jine its oreeginal stump--wad it no? But supposin' the man
had been born _wantin'_ a leg--eh, Thamas?"

"George! George!" said Thomas, with great solemnity, "luik ye efter yer
sowl, an' the Lord'ill luik after yer body, legs an' a'! Man, ye're no
convertit, an' hoo can ye unnerstan' the things o' the speerit? Aye
jeerin', an' jeerin'!"

"Weel! weel! Thamas," rejoined Macwha, mollified in perceiving that he
had not had altogether the worst in the tilt of words; "I wad only tak'
the leeberty o' thinkin' that, when He was aboot it, the Almighty micht
as weel mak' a new body a'thegither, as gang patchin' up the auld ane.
Sae I s' twa hame."

"Mind ye yer immortal pairt, George," said Thomas with a final thrust,
as he likewise rose to go home with him on the box of the hearse.

"Gin the Lord tak's sic guid care o' the body, Thamas," retorted
Macwha, with less of irreverence than appeared in his words, "maybe he
winna objec' to gie a look to my puir soul as weel; for they say it's
worth a hantle mair. I wish he wad, for he kens better nor me hoo to
set aboot the job."

So saying, he strode briskly over the graves and out of the churchyard,
leaving Thomas to follow as fast as suited his unwieldy strength.

CHAPTER IV.

Meantime another conversation was going on in one of the gigs, as it
bore two of the company from the place of tombs, which will serve a
little for the purposes of this history. One of the twain was a cousin
of the deceased, already incidentally mentioned as taking some
direction in the matter of refreshment. His name was no less than
Robert Bruce. The other was called Andrew Constable, and was a worthy
elder of the kirk.

"Weel, Robert," began the latter, after they had jogged on in silence
for half a mile or so, "what's to be done wi' little Annie Anderson and
her Auntie Meg, noo that the douce man's gane hame, an' left them
theroot, as't war?"

"They canna hae