could be accounted for by their work. This confirmed
Thomas's suspicions.

"A fine ploy yon for a young gentleman, Alec!" said he.

"What ploy, Thomas?" asked Alec, with attempted innocence.

"Ye ken weel eneuch what ploy I mean, man."

"Weel, supposin' I do--there's nae that muckle hairm dune, to mak' a
wark aboot, surely, Thomas."

"Ca' ye that no hairm?" rejoined Thomas, pulling the dead rabbit out of
his pocket, and holding it up by the ears. "Ca' ye that no hairm?" he
repeated.

Alec stared in dismay. Thomas well knew his regard for animals, and had
calculated upon it.

"Luik at the puir thing wi' its bonny reid een closed for ever! It's a
mercy to think 'at there's no lemin' and lowin' (blazing and flaming)
future in store for hit, puir mappy (bunny)!"

"Hoot, hoot, Thamas, man! Isna that bein' richteous overmuch, as oor
minister wad say?"

The question came in the husky voice of Peter Whaup, the blacksmith,
who was now discovered leaning in over the half-door of the shop.

"And wha's _your_ minister, Peter, my man?" retorted Thomas, with some
acrimony.

"Mr Cooie, as ye weel ken, Thamas."

"I thoucht as muckle. The doctrine savours o' the man, Peter. There's
no fear o' him or ony o' his followers bein' richteous over-much."

"Weel, ye ken, that's naething but a rabbit i' yer han'. It wad hae
been worried some day. Hoo cam' 't by 'ts deith?"

"I didna mean to kill't. 'Twas a' for fun, ye ken," said Alec,
addressing Thomas.

"There's a heap o' fun," answered Thomas with solemnity, "that carries
deith i' the tail o' 't. Here's the puir cripple laddie's rabbit as
deid's a herrin', and him at hame greetin' his een oot, I daursay."

Alec caught up his cap and made for the door.

"I'll gang and see him. Curly, wha has ony rabbits to sell?"

"Doddles's cleckit aboot a month ago."

"Whaur does Doddles bide?"

"I'll lat ye see."

The boys were hurrying together from the shop, when Thomas caught Alec
by the arm.

"Ye canna restore the rabbit, Alec."

"Hoot! Thamas, ae rabbit's as guid's anither," interposed the smith, in
a tone indicating disapprobation, mingled with a desire to mollify.

"Ay--to them 'at cares for neither. But there's sic a thing as a human
election, as weel's a divine ane; an' ane's no the same's anither, ance
it's a chosen ane."

"Weel, I pity them 'at the Lord has no pity upo'," sighed the smith,
with a passing thought of his own fits of drinking.

"Gang ye and try hi