“Was it the prayer of Mr. Mitchell, or his reading, or what was it you preferred him for?”
“Weel, sir,” said the beadle, “if you maun ken the reason, Mr. Mitchell’s auld claes fitted me best.”
It is a truism that much depends upon the way in which a thing is done. A young spark of a fellow had been made a minister, neither very wisely nor very well, as we may in fairness suppose, for, being appointed to a country charge where the manse was situated at a considerable distance from the church, he very soon shocked the finer sensibilities of the lieges by driving tandem to and from the Sunday service—that is, having two horses yoked to his machine, the one running in front of the other. The like had never been seen nor heard of before. He would require to be spoken to about it at once. Driving of itself was tolerable, but tandem was out of the question. Accordingly, the elders laid their heads together, and one of them tackled the reverend gentleman on the question at the close of the service.
“Why, you drive to church yourself,” said the minister to the elder.
“Ay, but in a very different manner frae that heathenish way that you do it,” retorted the elder—“that tandem way.”
“I see nothing more scandalous in driving horses tandem than running them abreast,” coolly argued the minister; “but if you can convince me that there is, I will cease from doing it.”
“I just dinna like it,” said the elder, failing to discover a better argument at the moment.
“That’s just it,” sneered the minister. “You don’t like it. It’s a sheer case of conventionality and narrow-minded prejudice.”