'Ah yes! a shepherd's work. It seems an appropriate thing to have been done by my pastor. Reminds one of many beautiful passages, and brings them home with a force which I feel most improving. I shall certainly mention it to the next minister I meet. Poor Roderick. He's young yet, and I could hardly expect him to guide me, that might be his mother, through the rough places of dark and difficult doctrines; but he has done his part in the physical difficulty, and no doubt in future years he may have a like privilege in spiritual things. Oh yes, a good young man, and a faithful shepherd!'

'Wha kens? Gin a' the folk says be true, he's liker the wolf in sheep's clothin' 'at's mentioned in Scripter, than a faithfu' shepherd. Gin I had a dochter come to the age o' speerin' for, its no him suld come keekin' round my toun wi' his souple tongue an' his holy sough, I'se warrant. But ye ken yer ain business, mistress, an', ony gate, ye were wise to keep him in yer ain hands, an' no hae him danderin' round wi' the lassie.'

'What do ye mean, woman? I have known Roderick Brown since he was born, and there never was a better, steadier, or more pious young man in the parish. Man or boy, you will hardly find his like between here and Edinburgh.'

'Belike mem!--belike--Folk's a' gude till they're fand out. Wha kens whaur ony o' us wad stand, gin a' was kenned? But ye see mem, it's like a' to be fand out concernin' his misdoin's, an' it's but a cracket pig, or a broken cistern his repitation's like to pruive whan a's kenned.'

'Woman!--What do ye mean?'

'Wummin yersel' mem! I ken I'm a wummin, an' sae are ye! But I'm a decent man's wife, an' his name's Stephen Boague. Sae dinna misca' me. I'm no beggin'.'

'But what can you mean? No calumny surely could touch the character of Mr. Brown!'

'I ken naething o' calumny, an' I never lee. But gin ye like to hear as was telled to me ye're walcome. Ye'll ken auld Tibbie Tirpie 'at bides down by Glen Effick, an' belike ye'll mind her lassie; young Tib, folk ca's her, a pridefu' scart 'at shoos whiles at the castle, an' cocks her neb ower ither folic, wi' her veil an' her parrysol an' the gumflowers in her mutch, like's decent folk was na gude eneugh for her! Aweel mem, an' wae I am to say the like o' ony puir lass, but she's gane wrang, an' wha but the minister to blame for't.'

'Nonsense! Mrs. Boague, I don't believe a word of it!'

'Juist what I said mysel', mem. But bide a wee, till ye hear the pruifs. Ye see, mem, the lass gaed awa, naebody kenned whaur, an' fient a word spak her mither about it. An' lang she stayed, till ae dark nicht, yon terrible nicht, ye'll mind it? Hame she comes e'y coach, a' happit up, an' hidin' like, an' greetin' sair, an' out she slinks at her mither's door, an' nane wad hae kenned ocht about it but for Mistress Briggs my leddy's woman, down by. An' that same nicht, aff gaes the minister, in a' yon wind an' ren. It was lang after decent folk was in their beds, an' naebody was steerin' to see him gang. An' next day he brings hame a bairn, an' gies't til his sister to tak tent on--the puir young leddy! To mak a fule o' her that gate, wi' a merry-begotten wein! That caps a', says I, whan I heard it. An' syne naething maun do but baptis't, an' mak a fule o' the Kirk's solemn ordinance. An' there was Tib, I saw her wi' my ain e'en, keekin ower the folk's heads, like's she thocht shame to be at the preachin' ava, an sae weel she micht. An whan it cam to bringin' out the bairns, awa she slinks hame, wi the niepkin stappit in her mouth to keep in the greet. I saw't a' mysel', mem, an what mair pruif wad a body hae? Folk dinna do their deeds o' darkness in day licht an' a' body lookin' on, sae it's juist by pettin' that an' that thegither, ye can houp to find them out. But there's mair yet. O' Sawbith nicht whan a' was dark, wha suld be seen comin' out o' Tibbie s door but the minister? An' wha gangs down to Peter Malloch's shop o' Monday mornin' but Tibbie? an' she had siller wi'her, a pund note an' nae less. A note o' the Bank o' Peterhead, 'at naebody round here ever has but Mester Brown, an' his siller a' comes frae there. Noo, what say ye til a' that? Mistress Sangster. The wicked man diz his deeds e'y dark but the Lord will bring them t'ey licht, that's what I say, an it's scriptur, or gye an like it. Belike it was a minister I heard preachin't--But is't no terrible?'