"Well, sir," replied Strang, "I think you know better than I do. But what seems to me the only straight-forward plan is this: if you have been wrong, confess it frankly. If you have done injustice to the people, apologise."

"Well," said the minister, "I shall first visit the other bothies in the parish, and I shall be guided by what I see there." Then after a pause he said—"But how do you account for the great outcry that has been raised against bothies?"

"Partly in this way, sir," said Strang. "There are some ministers (you will excuse me for saying it) that are like our sporting lairds. They must have the excitement of the chase. If they start a heresy case, that's their highest game and gives them their best sport. But not always lighting upon that, they have no difficulty in finding what they consider some social evil. Then they give the view halloo, and are after it in full cry through thick and thin."

"Ah!" said the minister, rising, "you are hard upon us poor clergy; but there may be a little truth in what you say. Good night." And away he went.

Next Sunday morning there was a great gathering of country folk at the church. They were discussing the rumour, that the minister was going to apologise. Some believed it, while others thought that it was too good to be true. Among the latter was old Manson.

"Apologeese," he sneered, "no, no. A black coat never surrenders. When he has been steekit in by the bethal, he can say what he likes, and no' ane daur utter a cheep. Na, na, the poopit has been ower lang the seat o' an oracle. It's no' gaun to become the stule o' repentance."

But old Manson was wrong. Towards the end of the sermon, which was on the text, "Bear ye one another's burdens," the minister came to a dead pause. There was a terrible stillness all over the church. Every ear was on the alert to catch what was coming, and nervous people held down their heads. Then the minister, looking ghastly pale, and speaking with slow deliberation, said:

"Brethren, my great desire is to find out what your burdens are, and to help you to bear them; but last Sabbath I must admit that I failed. I had always heard that the Bothy System was one of the curses of this country; and I had never heard a word said in its defence. Very naturally, in calling upon the people of this neighbourhood to put away the evil thing from among them, I used very strong language. Brethren, I have since discovered that, as far as this parish is concerned, I was wrong; and I now apologise to the farming people in particular and the congregation in general. May this be a warning to us all—to you as well as me—not to be too hasty in forming judgments regarding our fellow-creatures."

Here was an event altogether unprecedented! No one had ever heard of a minister confessing from the pulpit that he had made a mistake. It was the result of the purest Christian candour; but had it proceeded from policy it would have been a master-stroke. With one sentence the minister turned the hearts of the people from the fiercest indignation right round to an enthusiastic love. The women-folk especially were loud in his praises.