He was a cautious minister.
"Dod, an' I'm gled to hear ye sayin' that. It's a relief to my mind," said Simeon Gleg. "I dinna want to fling my twunty pound into the mill-dam."
"But I understood you to say," went on the minister, "that you intended to enter the ministry of the Kirk."
"Ou ay, that's nae dout my ettlin'. But that's a lang gate to gang, an' in the meantime my object in gaun to the college is juist the cultivation o' my mind."
The wondrous apple-faced ploughboy in the red-sleeved bed-gown looked thoughtfully at the palms of his horny hands as he reeled off this sentence. But he had more to say.
"I think Greek and Laitin wull be the best way. Twunty pounds' worth—seven for fees an' the rest for providin'. But my mither says she'll gie me a braxy ham or twa, an' a crock o' butter."
"But what do you know?" asked the minister. "Have you begun the languages?"
Simeon Gleg wrestled a moment with the M.B. waistcoat, and from the inside of it he extricated two books.
"This," he said, "is Melvin's Laitin Exercises, an' I hae the Rudiments at hame. I hae been through them twice. An' this is the Academy Greek Rudiments. O man—I mean, O minister"—he broke out earnestly, "gin ye wad juist gie the letters a bit rin owre. I dinna ken hoo to mak' them soond!"
The minister ran over the Greek letters.