“Eh, sir, after yon on the muir the day, I didna think ye wad hae askit me that question!”
The people looked to one another with astonishment, whereupon the minister prudently explained the whole matter.
When the venerable Ebenezer Erskine was minister of Portmoak, his brother, the equally well-known Ralph, afore-mentioned, paid him a visit. On his entering the manse Ebenezer exclaimed—
“Ralph, man, I’m glad to see you, ye hae come in gude time. I have a diet of examination to-day, and I have also important business to attend to at Perth. Ye’ll tak’ the examination, will ye, and let me gang to Perth?”
“With all my heart,” said Ralph.
“Weel,” said Ebenezer, “ye’ll find a’ my fouk easy to examine but ane, and him, I reckon, ye had better no meddle wi’. He has an auld-fashioned Scotch way o’ answering a’e question by putting anither, an’ he’ll maybe affront ye.”
“Affront me!” said Ralph indignantly. “Do you think he’ll foil me wi’ my ain weapons?”
“Aweel,” said his brother, “I gi’e ye fair warning, ye had better no ca’ him up.”
The individual thus referred to was Walter Simpson, the village blacksmith, who at former diets of examination had proved himself rather troublesome to his minister. The gifted Ralph, indignant to the last degree at the idea of an illiterate blacksmith perplexing him, determined to encounter him at once by putting a grand, leading, unanswerable question. Accordingly, after putting a variety of simple preliminary interrogations to some of the senior members of his brother’s congregation present, he cried out with a loud voice, “Walter Simpson.”