rd will guide them aright, never
fear."

"Ah hope so, Duncan, Ah hope so, but there's oor Andra noo, he's got
nae mair sense than when he was on his mither's knee. Him an' yon
nephews o' yours are jist as prone to evil as the sparks to fly
upwards. They spend half o' their time in the glen wi' yon' gigglin'
licht-heided lasses o' John Hamilton's, and the ither half, fleein'
ower the country. Ah see Sandy's gotten the bag-pipes noo, an' ma
lad's jist gone fair daft wi' the goin's on up at Betsey's."

Duncan was somewhat abashed. He remembered with a pang of conscience
that he had admired his nephew's bag-pipes, and had laughed with his
sister, as the piper strode up and down the kitchen, playing McDonald's
reel, to the stirring and uproarious accompaniment of the six flying
feet of his brothers.

"Oh well, well," he said apologetically, "they would not be meaning any
harm, and Donal' will be at home for his holidays, and the lads will be
jist a wee bit noisy. And, indeed, Sandy would be playing a fine
strathspey the other night." He checked himself hurriedly, feeling
that such a subject was incongruous on the Sabbath.

Andrew Johnstone seemed to share his opinion, for he made no answer,
but walked along whacking the wayside weeds with vicious strokes of his
big stick. This was always a bad sign, and Duncan was silent for a
time. He had a great piece of good news regarding one of those same
nephews, but the turn the conversation had taken rendered it rather
difficult to tell his friend.

"I would be thinking this morning of the great power of prayer, Andra,"
he said, by way of introduction. "All the good that would be coming to
Glenoro in these years the good Lord would be sending it in answer to
prayer."

Andrew Johnstone put his stick behind him; his face cleared. "Aye,
aye, Duncan, yon's a fact. Man, d'ye mind how your faither an' mine,
an' old Donald Fraser would meet when we were lads an' pray for the
means o' grace an' the ordinances o' God's hoose?"

"Yes, yes, Andra, yes indeed, and He would be sending Mr. McAlpine to
awaken the people, and then the church came, and Mr. Cameron."

"Man, yon were wild days, before Mr. McAlpine cam'," replied his
friend, giving himself up to the joys of retrospect. "Yer faither used
to say the Glen was jist like the Garden o' Eden until the serpent
cam', an' it wes the tavern. Ah mind when yon Eerish crew from the
Flats cam' up here to Pete Nash's tavern, an'