"We've nothing of the sort, father," Gordon explained reluctantly.
"Ah, weel," he answered cheerfully, "ye'll dae fine yirsel'. Staun' aroon' wi' yir back till me—and let yon mon pit his back till ye," indicating an immaculate professor of burly form; who, apprehending, presented himself for Gordon's grasp, the latter in turn taking the already extended foot between his legs and gripping the boot tightly with his hands. Gordon's sire then lifted up the free foot upon his son, pushing mightily, and making a noise the while such as I have heard men employ when raising telegraph poles. A moment later Gordon and the professor were in a heap on the floor, a long boot with a red top between them. The second similarly removed, the old man moved solemnly out to the middle of the floor, called for a couple of walking sticks, laid them crosswise; then broke into the most fantastic dance, leaping to and fro above the imaginary swords, sometimes crouching low, sometimes springing high in air, sometimes whirling like a Dervish with outflowing arms, the whole enriched by an occasional savage yell that was first the terror, afterwards the delight, of one or two of the ladies. But all were entranced, and none more so than the performer himself.
Shortly after the excitement had subsided the guests began to make their farewells. But this struck the venerable Scotchman as quite irregular. "Hoots!" he cried, when one or two had proffered me their hands, "ye canna' gang till we've had worship; Gordon wadna' like it. Wha ever heard tell o' freens leavin' the manse wi'oot a word o' prayer? Gordon, tak' the Buik"; and his son, an amused smile playing about his lips, proceeded promptly to do as he was told.
"Are ye no' gaein' to sing?" the old man suddenly broke out, for Gordon was just starting to read.
"We don't usually, father; it's not customary here," was the answer.
"It's a sair custom," rejoined his father, "neglectin' to sing the praise o' Almichty God. But, onyway, we'll ha'e a psalm—I'll raise the tune mysel'," which purpose he carried into effect as soon as a selection had been made. "We'll tak' the eighty-ninth," he said presently; and as he launched the mighty strain I recognized the very words that had given me my first introduction to the psalms, that far-gone night in uncle's house:
"Oh, greatly blessed the people are
The joyful sound that know,"
he began, singing onward to the end. Gordon and I alone could join with him, but our leader seemed not to care. His whole heart and mind were absorbed in the great song of his fatherland, and he sang it as only an exile can. Face and voice and soul all seemed to bear witness to the truth of the noble verse which brought the psalm to an end. He looked like one of the old battling Covenanters themselves, his eyes closed, his head thrown back, one hand gently keeping time as he rolled out the crowning stanza:
"For God is our defense and He
To us doth safety bring;
The Holy One of Israel
Is our Almighty King."
Silence fell. Then Gordon moved over under the light and began to read the Scriptures. The passage he chose was that sublime chapter from Isaiah; and there were few could interpret through the voice as Gordon could. The old man sat, his eyes shaded by his hand, listening reverently. By and by Gordon came to the words: "My servant shall deal prudently ... he shall be exalted and extolled ... his visage was so marred more than any man and his form more than the sons of men."