Mr. Dowlas went on to propose that the postmaster, Mr. Prittie, act as secretary to the meeting, which was carried with general applause; and Ebenezer took a new quill pen from his drawer, examined the nib critically on his nail, and then placed it thoughtfully between his teeth, while he took his stand at the little shop desk. Observing the tall stool he bethought him that a chairman was wanted, and forthwith reciprocated the holy man's politeness by proposing that he take the chair. Mr. Dowlas bearing in mind his own bulk, and surveying the tall and slender legs of the stool, demurred, suggesting that the chair should be filled by one of themselves--the Laird in fact. The Laird declined with emphasis. He said that it would not be long till they would not only regret, but be heartily ashamed of what they were doing, that he would not compromise himself in their proceedings, even so far as to be present, but that he thought it well that a friend of both sides, who had not yet committed himself to a judgment without evidence, should be present, to prevent mischief as far as possible.
No one ventured to retort. The majesty of wealth and prosperity forbade that; but it may be safely said that for the moment the kindness and goodwill of a lifetime did little to mitigate the indignation begotten of that rebuke.
With some trepidation and much care, Mr. Dowlas clambered up to his lofty perch, from which he looked giddily down. He could not now rise to speak, and there was nothing so abstruse going forward that he need come down to the level of his hearers, wherefore he remained where he was, and like the Queen addressing her Parliament, he spoke seated.
He looked down over Ebenezer and his clean sheet of paper and directed him how he should begin the minutes of the meeting, and then informed his auditors that they might now consider the meeting as constituted, and that it would be in order for some one to bring before it a categorical statement of the business which had brought them together.
All eyes were turned on Ebenezer, but that terrible word 'categorical' had proved a stumbler to him. Looks, winks and nods were in vain, because he had resolved not to see them, and was busy remaking his pen, and flicking the point with his thumb that the hair split might come straight. Next they looked to Peter Malloch, but he was persistently looking to some one else, so that the electric influence, if there was any, was simply passed along further by him as a conductor, and nothing came of it.
'Is there no one,' said Mr. Dowlas at length, 'who will state the purpose of this meeting? We have nothing before us which we can consider or come to a decision upon, surely some one present could repeat the charges and statements on which Mr. Geddie and myself were induced to attend here.'
His eye had fallen on that of Andrew Semple, who was looking up and listening with all attention, and there, unwittingly fixed, it had remained, till Andrew feeling himself singled out and addressed individually, stood up as by special command, and after some introductory stammering, found voice.
'It's little I can say 'at I ken, Mester Dowlas, an' I see na what for ye suld look to me to mak yer statement; but seein' ye're a minister 'at kens what's richt, an' wad na be for leadin' simple folk 'at lippens to ye, intil harm, I'm no mindin' gin I say what I can. A weel, sir, ye see it was just the very day our Davie was ta'en down wi' the jandies. It may hae been on a Tuesday? Na, it was Wadnesday, I'm gye an' sure it was a Wadnesday. I had gotten thegither a score o' yows, an' I was just gaun to herd them down by til Elluc Powie's; an' the gudewife she comes to me an' she says, "Andra," says she, "I'm sair misdoubtin' but our Davie"--or na! It was "that puir bairn Davie" she ca'd him. Ay! thae was her very words, "that he's gotten the jandies, an', gin yer road's through Glen Effick, I wuss ye wad just rin in as ye gang by, an' tell my Auntie Lillie, she's just graund on the jandies." An', says I, "gudewife, I'll do yer biddin'." An' sae, me an' my yows, an' my dug Bawtie--ay it was--Bawtie, I'm thinkin'--Mustard had gotten a lang jag in's forepaw, sae he bed at hame. Aweel, as I was sayin'--'
'Hurry up! Andra,' whispered the Laird, 'or it will be supper time before you get through! I want to get home.'
'The truith's better nor rubies, Laird! speer the minister there gin it's no! I wull no lee, for a' the lairds atween here an' Fruchie! an' it's a sair job to be mindin' byganes. But, as I was sayin', minister, we was just fornent the smiddie, (me, an' the yows, ye ken, an' Bawtie) whan wha suld I see but Auntie Lillie hersel, an' says I to her, "Hoo's a' wi' ye, Auntie?" says I--Na! that's no hit. It was her 'at says to me, "Andra Semple," says she, "but the sicht o' you's gude for sair eyen," says she, an' syne she speered for the gudewife. An' I up an' telled her hoo our Davie was down wi' the jandies, an' her, she was sair afflicket to hear tell o't, for she's a rael kindly auld body. An' says she to me, "It's just trouble an' affliction a' round," says she, "I'm thinkin' it's the days of the end 'at's comin' to pass," says she. "An' there's nane to lippen til. We're just born til evil as the sparks flee up. An' there's non that doeth gude, no not wan," for she's weel grundet e'y scripter, our Auntie Lillie. "An' ye'll no hae been hearin' what's come o'er our minister," says she, "Him we a' tuk for sic a sonsie honest laad, an' a gude!--aweel gin a' the folk says," says she, "be true, he's gaen clean wrang a' thegither." An' sae she up an' telled me a' 'at a'body kens a'ready; an' ye a' ken't, an' that's just hoo I cam to hear tell o't at the first. An' sae I hae telled ye a' I ken.'