(h)exactly business. That is," he said with an
apologetic smile, "(h)it depends, you see, just w'at yeh puts (h)into a
word, Mrs. McNish."

Mr. Wigglesworth's head went over to one side as if in contemplation of
a new and striking idea.

"A pit nae meaning into a word that's no in it on its ain accoont," she
replied with uncompromising grimness. "Business is just business, an' my
son diz nae business on the Lord's Day."

There was no place for casuistry in the old Scotch lady's mind. A thing
was or was not, and there was an end to that.

"Certainly, Mrs. McNish, certainly! And so sez I. But there might be a
slight difference of (h)opinion between you and I, so to speak, as
to just w'at may constitute 'business.' Now, for (h)instance--" Mr.
Wigglesworth was warming to his subject, but the old lady standing on
her doorstep fixed her keen blue eyes upon him and ruthlessly swept away
all argumentation on the matter.

"If it is a matter consistent with the Lord's Day, come in; if not, stay
oot."

"Oh! Yes, thank you. By the way, is your son in, by (h)any chance?
Per'raps 'e's shavin' 'isself, eh?" Mr. Wigglesworth indulged in a
nervous giggle.

"Shavin' himsel!" exclaimed Mrs. McNish. "On the Sawbath! Man, d'ye
think he's a heathen, then?" Mrs. McNish regarded the man before her
with severity.

"An 'eathen? Not me! I should consider it an 'eathenish practice to go
dirty of a Sunday," said Mr. Wigglesworth triumphantly.

"Hoots, man, wha's talkin' about gaein' dirty? Can ye no mak due
preparation on the Saturday? What is yere Saturday for?"

This was a new view to Mr. Wigglesworth and rather abashed him.

"What is it, Mother?" Malcolm's voice indicated a desire to appease the
wrath that gleamed in his mother's eye. "Oh, it is Mr. Wigglesworth.
Yes, yes! I want to see Mr. Wigglesworth. Will you come in, Mr.
Wigglesworth?"

"Malcolm, A was jist tellin' Mr. Wigglesworth--"

"Yes, yes, I know, Mother, but I want--"

"Malcolm, ye ken what day it is. And A wull not--"

"Yes, Mother, A ken weel, but--"

"And ye ken ye'll be settin' oot for the Kirk in half an oor--"

"Half an hour, Mother? Why, it is only half past nine--"

"A ken weel what it is. But A dinna like tae be fashed and flustered in
ma mind on ma way till the Hoose o' God."

"I shall only require a very few moments, Madam," said Mr. Wigglesworth.
"The matter with w'ich I am (h)entrusted need not take more than a
minute or two. In fact, I simply