"Speaking comes by nature,
and silence by understanding. I am thankfu' now I let Deacon Strang
hae the last word. I'm saying naught against Strang; he may gie good
counsel, but they'll be fools that tak it."

"Uncle!"

"Hout, Davie! Whatna for are you here?"

"It began to snow, and I thought you would be the better of your cloak
and umbrella. You seem vexed, uncle."

"Vexed? Ay. The minister is the maist contrary o' mortals. He kens
naething about church government, and he treats gude siller as if it
wasna worth the counting; but he's a gude man, and a great man, Davie,
and folk canna serve the altar and be money-changers too. I ought to
keep that i' mind. It's Deacon Strang, and no the minister."

"Well, uncle, you must just thole it; you know what the New Testament
says?"

"Ay, ay; I ken it says if a man be struck on one cheek, he must turn
the other; but, Davie, let me tell you that the man who gets the first
blow generally deserves the second. It is gude Christian law no to
permit the first stroke. That is my interpretation o' the matter."

"I never thought of that."

"Young folk don't think o' everything."

There was something in the tone of this last remark which seemed to
fit best into silence, and David Callendar had a particular reason for
not further irritating his uncle. The two men without any other remark
reached the large, handsome house in Blytheswood Square which was
their home. Its warmth and comfort had an immediate effect on the
deacon. He looked pleasantly at the blazing fire and the table on the
hearthrug, with its basket of oaten cakes, its pitcher of cream, and
its whiskey-bottle and toddy glasses. The little brass kettle was
simmering before the fire, his slippers were invitingly warm, his
loose coat lying over the back of his soft, ample chair, and just as
he had put them on, and sank down with a sigh of content, a bright old
lady entered with a spicy dish of kippered salmon.

"I thought I wad bring ye a bit relish wi' your toddy, deacon. Talking
is hungry wark. I think a man might find easier pleasuring than going
to a kirk session through a snowstorm."

"A man might, Jenny. They'd suit women-folk wonderfu'; there's plenty
o' talk and little wark."

"Then I dinna see ony call to mak a change, deacon."

"Now, Jenny, you've had the last word, sae ye can go to bed wi' an
easy mind. And, Jenny, woman, dinna let your quarrel wi' Maggie
Launder come between you and honest sleep. I t