epticism would sometimes set him examining those grooves to
find out whether they had been made by the wheels of the
gospel-chariot, or by those of Juggernaut in the disguise of a Hebrew
high priest, drawn by a shouting Christian people. Indeed, as soon as
he ceased to go to church, which was soon after ceasing to regard the
priesthood as his future profession, he began to look at many things
from points of view not exclusively ecclesiastical. So that, although
he did go to church at Glamerton for several Sundays, the day arriving
when he could not face it again, he did not scruple to set off for the
hills. Coming home with a great grand purple foxglove in his hand, he
met some of the missionars returning from their chapel, and amongst the
rest Robert Bruce, who stopped and spoke.

"I'm surprised to see ye carryin' that thing o' the Lord's day, Mr
Cupples. Fowk'll think ill o' ye."

"Weel, ye see, Mr Bruce, it angert me sae to see the ill-faured thing
positeevely growin' there upo' the Lord's day, that I pu'd it up 'maist
by the reet. To think o' a weyd like that prankin' itsel' oot in its
purple and its spots upo' the Sawbath day! It canna ken what it's
aboot. I'm only feared I left eneuch o' 't to be up again afore lang."

"I doobt, Mr Cupples, ye haena come unner the pooer o' grace yet."

"A pour o' creysh (grease)! Na, thank ye. I dinna want to come unner a
pour o' creysh. It wad blaud me a'thegither. Is that the gait ye
baptize i' your conventicle?"

"There's nane sae deif's them 'at winna hear, Mr Cupples," said Bruce.
"I mean--ye're no convertit yet."

"Na. I'm no convertit. 'Deed no. I wadna like to be convertit. What wad
ye convert me till? A swine? Or a sma' peddlin' crater that tak's a
bawbee mair for rowin' up the pigtail in a foul paper? Ca' ye that
conversion? I'll bide as I am."

"It's waste o' precious time speikin' to you, Mr Cupples," returned
Bruce, moving off with a red face.

"'Deed is't," retorted Cupples; "and I houp ye winna forget the fac'?
It's o' consequens to me."

But he had quite another word on the same subject for Annie Anderson,
whom he overtook on her way to Howglen--she likewise returning from the
missionar kirk.

"Isna that a bonnie ring o' _deid man's bells_, Annie?" said he,
holding out the foxglove, and calling it by its name in that part of
the country.

"Ay is't. But that was ower muckle a flooer to tak' to the kirk wi' ye.
Ye wad gar the fowk lauch."

"What's the