"Hech! just listen tae him," cried Johnnie, with uplifted hands. "The meenister whae brocht him up in the psalms o' David an' led him by mony waters through the paraphrases."
"Hold your tongue!" said the Master, stamping his foot. "I didn't ask you to make any remarks."
"What's your wull then?" demanded Johnnie sourly.
"Do you think there'll be a row if I married her?"
"Aye I--that I do."
"She's very pretty."
"Ye mauna gang like th' Israelites after strange wumen."
"She's got plenty of money."
This artful remark appealed to Johnnie's strongest passion, and he considered the question.
"Weel, I'll nae say but what that micht dae ye some gude," he said cautiously, "but, oh, Maister, it's nae the auld Lord I fear, it's the meenister o' Tabbylugs, as ye weel ken. If ye but get the richt side o' his lug, maybe ye can tac' this dochter o' Belial tae Kirk--if no, I fear me, Maister, there'll be the deil tae pay."