"Do you know Mr Potter?" asked Mr Stark.
"Not exactly," replied the Deacon, "but he is a relative of my friend, Councillor Tawse."
"Your friend!" exclaimed Sam Slater, in a tone of surprise; "why, Councillor Tawse is your greatest enemy."
"Municipally, but not socially," said the Deacon. "We disagree at the council board, but we make it up at the festive board; and even although he were my enemy, should we not, especially at this season, return good for evil?"
There was no gainsaying this high religious reasoning, and so the Deacon, accompanied by his host and Sam, called at Myreside; and there they were entertained with shortbread, currant loaf, and whisky; and there the Deacon, like a well-oiled machine, performed the conventional task of wishing health and prosperity to the household. But it was at the dinner, which took place at mid-day at Kingswell, where the great man came out in his full strength. After the turkey and plum-pudding, his soul seemed to melt and flow forth in benevolent expression. He proposed toast after toast, he uttered sentiment after sentiment, he christened each toast and sentiment with a liberal libation of toddy, and he got into such a full flow of sociality that it was a difficult task to stop him. At last, when the gloaming was coming on, Sam started up and said that they must set out at once. They were to return homewards by a different road, and stay all night with a hospitable friend, Mr Piper of Hallyetts, who lived at a village half way on their journey.
After a most impressive farewell to Mr Stark and his family, the Deacon took Sam's arm, and proceeded on his way. He had been wound up so tightly by the festivities of the day that he was not yet nearly run down; and as he went on, he descanted warmly upon the hospitalities and virtues of the people they had left. And when Sam, in his own mischievous mood, began to sneer at toast-drinking, and to wonder how the swallowing of liquor could have any effect upon the health and prosperity of other people, the Deacon grew red with righteous indignation.
"Sam," he explained, "I am astonished at your ignorance. The Bible, sir, says that wine maketh glad the heart of man. In other words, it fills the heart with kindly social feeling. This feeling finds its legitimate outlet in kind wishes towards our fellow-men; and what are kind wishes but prayers; and are you such an unbeliever, sir, as to hold that prayers have no effect?"
There was only one public-house by the way; and the whisky which they got there was pronounced by the Deacon to be disgraceful. But he told Sam to cheer up, for they would soon be at a house where they would have every comfort. And then he went off into a eulogy on his friend Piper. "He is a good Samaritan, sir, and his home is a perfect haven of rest; and as for his whisky, it's the balm of Gilead, soothing the wounds of both soul and body."
But, alas for human expectations! When they arrived at Hallyetts, and were welcomed warmly by Mr and Mrs Piper and their family, and when they had been ushered into the dining-room where the table was laid for supper, the Deacon stood aghast. So stands the country gentleman when he steps out of his mansion on a May morning expecting to see nothing but beauty and warmth, and finds the landscape under a sheet of chilling snow. Instead of the warm, heart-cheering decanters that were wont to be there, the Deacon beheld nothing but cauldrife bottles of soda water. Was it possible? Was he not mistaken? No, it was too true! The well-remembered, much-comforting Glenlivet was gone! He sank speechless into a chair. He turned red and then white. His friends in alarm gathered round him, asking him if he were ill. He could only whisper, "Brandy, for heaven's sake!"