“Man, but we’ll have lots o’ fun. It appears that Mactavish is in love wi’ young Jeanie, and both Miss Mellish and Miss Angus are in love with Mactavish. But these are trifles. The main thing is that the place has been groanin’ under Mactavish’s tyranny for ever so long; all is ripe for a revolution. Losh! but it’s a Christian community.”
“Well,” replied Benson, “I, for one, will not join in any revolution. I have my own work to do; I’ll take care no one interferes with that. But I mean to lead a quiet life if they will let me.”
“I’m thinkin’ ye’ll have to tak’ sides. ‘Whoso is not wi’ us is against us’ is a very philosophical text. Are ye goin’ to fish?”
“Fish? Rather; it’s my favourite sport. But where? I’ve not heard of any river about here.”
“I was meanin’ in the Apostolic sense—‘fishers o’ men,’ you know.”
“Oh, that’s quite out of my line. I’m a pedagogue, not a missionary.”
“Well, ye’ll have to cast a line at the prayer-meetin’ here. If ye don’t, Mactavish’ll gie ye drumsticks. It appears they have fowls for dinner five days a week regularly—sometimes oftener. It’s the rule that if ye don’t fish ye’ll never get a wing, but if ye cast a good long line wi’ a takin’ text for bait, not alone will ye get a wing, but sometimes a piece of liver as well.”
“Oh, nonsense; the carpenter has been pulling your leg.”
“All right; just wait an’ ye’ll see.”
Just then the dinner-bell sounded, and the two friends descended to the refectory together. The only meat on the table was a pair of boiled fowls. Mr Mactavish, with great deliberation and a skill born of long practice, dismembered them. Then he paused as though to rest after his exertions.