"Ye needna tell me—I ken His name," said Walter reverently.
"Well," continued the minister, "would you not like to be a herd like
Him, and look after men and not sheep?"
"Sheep need to be lookit after as weel," said Walter.
"But sheep have no souls to be saved!" said Richard Cameron.
"Dowgs hae!" asserted Walter stoutly.
"What makes you say so?" said the minister indulgently. He was out for a holiday.
"Because, if my dowg Royal hasna a soul, there's a heap o' fowk gangs to the kirk withoot!"
"What does Royal do that makes you think that he has a soul?" asked the minister.
"Weel, for ae thing, he gangs to the kirk every Sabbath, and lies in the passage, an' he'll no as muckle as snack at a flee that lichts on his nose—a thing he's verra fond o' on a week day. An' if it's no' yersel' that's preachin', my gran'faither says that he'll rise an' gang oot till the sermon's by."
The minister felt keenly the implied compliment.