his race, I wish some man of his
profession had written his life, for the doctrine he taught and the way
he lived will not be believed by the new generation. The arrival of
his goods was more than many sermons to Kilbogie, and I had it from
Mains's own lips. It was the kindly fashion of those days that the
farmers carted the new minister's furniture from the nearest railway
station, and as the railway to Kildrummie was not yet open, they had to
go to Stormont Station on the north line; and a pleasant procession
they made passing through Pitscowrie, ten carts in their best array,
and drivers with a semi-festive air. Mr. Saunderson was at the
station, having reached it by some miracle without mistake, and was in
a condition of abject nervousness about the handling and conveyance of
his belongings.

"You will be careful--exceeding careful," he implored; "if one of the
boxes were allowed to descend hurriedly to the ground, the result to
what is within would be disastrous. I am much afraid that the weight
is considerable, but I am ready to assist;" and he got ready.

"Dinna pit yirsel' intae a ferry tarry (commotion)," but Mains was
distinctly pleased to see a little touch of worldliness, just enough to
keep the new minister in touch with humanity. "It 'll be queer stuff
oor lads canna lift, an' a 'll gie ye a warranty that the' 'll no be a
cup o' the cheeny broken," and then Saunderson conducted his
congregation to the siding.

"Dod, man," remarked Mains to the station-master, examining a truck
with eight boxes; "the manse 'll no want for dishes at ony rate; but
let's start on the furniture; whar hae ye got the rest o' the
plenishing?

"Naething mair? havers, man, ye dinna mean tae say they pack beds an'
tables in boxes; a' doot there 's a truck missin'." Then Mains went
over where the minister was fidgeting beside his possessions.

"No, no," said Saunderson, when the situation was put before him, "it's
all here. I counted the boxes, and I packed every box myself. That
top one contains the fathers--deal gently with it; and the Reformation
divines are just below it. Books are easily injured, and they feel it.
I do believe there is a certain life in them, and . . . and . . . they
don't like being ill-used," and Jeremiah looked wistfully at the
ploughmen.

"Div ye mean tae say," as soon as Mains had recovered, "that ye 've
brocht naethin' for the manse but bukes, naither bed nor bedding?
Keep's a'," as the si