re many more brilliant ministers in Scotland than the
minister of Blawrinnie, but none kindlier; and in a few minutes he had
offered to give Simeon Gleg two nights a week in the dead languages.
Simeon quivered with the mighty words of thankfulness that rose to his
Adam's apple, but which would not come further. He took the minister's
hand.

"Oh, sir," he said, "I canna thank ye! I haena words fittin'! Gin I had
the Greek and Laitin, I wad ken what to say till ye--"

"Never mind, Simeon; do not say a word. I understand all about it,"
replied the minister warmly.

Simeon still lingered undecided. He was now standing in the M.B.
waistcoat and the pink bed-gown. The sleeves were more obtrusive than
ever. The minister was reminded of his official duties. He said
tentatively--

"Ah--would you--perhaps you would like me to give you a word of advice,
or--ah--perhaps to engage in prayer?"

These were things usually expected in Blawrinnie.

"Na, na!" cried Simeon eagerly. "No' that! But, O minister, ye micht gie
thae letters anither skelp owre--aboot _Alfy, Betaw, Gaumaw_!"

The minister took the Greek Rudiments again without a smile, and read
the alphabet slowly and with unction, as if it were his first chapter on
the Sabbath morning--and a full kirk.

Simeon Gleg stood by, looking up and clasping his hands in ecstasy.

"O Lord," he said, "help me keep mind o' it! It's just like the kingdom
o' heaven! Greek an' Laitin's the thing! There's nae mistak', Greek and
Laitin's the thing!"

Then on the doorstep he turned, after Betsy had reclad him in his dry
clothes and lent him the minister's third best umbrella.

This was Simeon Gleg's good-bye to the minister--

"Twunty pound is a dreadfu' heap o' siller; but, O minister, my mind
'ill stand an awfu' sicht o' impruvement! It'll no' be a penny owre
muckle!"

IV

KIT KENNEDY, NE'ER-DO-WELL

"_Now I wonder," with a flicker
Of the Old Ford in his eyes
As he watched the snow come thicker,
"Are the angels warm and rosy
When the snow-storms fill the skies,
As in summer when the sun
Makes their cloud-beds warm and cosy?
And I wonder if they're sleeping
Through this bitter winter weather
Or aloft their watches keeping,
As the shepherds told of them,
Hosts and hosts of them together,
Singing o'er the lowly stable,
In that little Bethlehem!_"

"_Ford Bereton_."

"Kit Kennedy, ye are a lazy ne'er-do-weel--lyin' snorin' there in