"Have you ever joined before, Mr. Borland?" one of the elders asked him after a little.
"Never joined a church before—haven't been much of a joiner," David answered cheerfully; "joined the Elks once in the States when I was a young fellow—an' they made it pretty interestin' for me," dispensing a conciliatory smile among the startled elders as he turned to catch another question.
"What maks ye want to join, Mr. Borland?" enquired one of the new elders, hitherto silent. "What's yir motive, like? Hae ye got the root o' the matter in ye, div ye think?" he elaborated formally.
David started somewhat violently, turning and looking his questioner full in the face. "Have I got what in me?" he cried—"what kind of a root? That's more than I can say, sir; I don't catch your meanin'."
Dr. Fletcher interposed. "You're not familiar with our terms, Mr. Borland," he said reassuringly. "Mr. Aiken only wants to know why you feel impelled to become a member of the church—perhaps you could answer the question when it's put that way?"
David's first sign of answer was to stoop and pick up a rather shapeless hat lying at his feet. This symptom decidedly alarmed the elders, several of them sitting up suddenly in their chairs as though fearful that so interesting a subject might escape. But David had evidently seized it only for purposes of reflection, turning it round and round in his hands, his eyes fixed upon the floor.
"It was a queer kind of a reason," he began abruptly, clearing his throat with all the resonance of a trumpet—"but mebbe it ain't too bad a one after all. It was Madeline," he finally blurted out, staring at all the brethren in turn. "I knew she was goin' to join—an'—an' I wanted to keep up with her. If she's agoin' to heaven, I'm agoin' too—an' I reckon this here's the way," he added, feeling that the phraseology was not too ill-timed. Then he waited.
"Very good, Mr. Borland—very good," the Moderator pronounced encouragingly. "But about—about your own soul. I'm sure we all hope you—you—realize your need, Mr. Borland. It's a sense of sin we all need, you know. I'm sure you feel you've been a sinner, Mr. Borland?" and the good man turned the most brotherly of faces upon the applicant.
"Oh, yes," responded David agreeably; "oh, yes, I'm all right that way—I've been quite a sinner, all right. The only thing I'm afeart of is I've been 'most too good a sinner. I wisht I wasn't quite so handy at it," he went on gravely. "I reckon I've been about as bad as—as any of the deacons here," glancing towards the open-mouthed about him as he made the comparison, "an' some o' them's got quite a record, if all reports is true. I traded horses onct with Robert there," nodding familiarly in the direction of Mr. McCaig, "an' the first time we traded, he sinned pretty bad—but that's nothin'; bygones is bygones—an' anyhow, the second time we traded, I sinned pretty bad myself. So I'm all right that way, Doctor," he again assured the Moderator, making a last desperate effort to tie his hat into a knot.
"I didna ken the mare was spavined, Moderator," Mr. McCaig broke in, gasping with emotion; "an' a meetin' o' session's no place for discussin' sic like matters onyway," he appealed vehemently. "Thae week-day things has nae richt to be mentioned here—a meetin' o' elders is no' a cattle fair," and Robert looked well pleased with this final stroke.