"Yes! Andrew."
"Ye would starve a man to death,—murder him?"
"No!—but I would make him very uncomfortable. I would make him so hungry that he would almost hear the gnawing in his internals for meat, if I thought good would come of it."
The man behind the door became furious.
"Willum Auld!"
"Yes! Andrew."
"If ye don't open that door at once, I'll write a complaint to the Presbytery. I'll ha'e ye shorn o' your releegious orders and hunted frae the kirk o' God."
"Be silent! you blasphemer," commanded the frail but plucky old minister. "How dare you talk in that way? Do you wish to bring down a judgment on yourself? Good-night! Andrew,—I'll be back to-morrow; and I would strongly recommend you, in the interval, to get down on your knees and pray to your Maker."
This proved almost too much for Andrew.
"Willum!—Willum!—Come back," he cried through the door.