y, for ma faither was aye uncommon loyal at the hinner end.
But atween him an' ma mither he aye kent fine when to stop.

"An' a' oor faithers tasted afore they gaed to bed, an' they a' dee'd
wi' their faces to the licht; an' I wadna gie ane o' them for a wheen o'
yir temperance haverers wi' their dog talks on the Sabbath day."

"I second that," said Ronald M'Gregor. "The injudeecious use o'
speerits, or o' ony ither needcessity, is no' to be commendit, but the
Sabbath he's askin' 'll be the sacrament, and that's no day for dog
talkin', I'm thinkin'"--and the motion carried unanimously.

* * * * *

"How's the ice to-day?" I asked Thomas Laidlaw, one winter's afternoon.

"Fair graun'," replied the solemn Thomas. "Ye'll never throw a stane on
better till ye draw by yir last gaird; 'twad dae fine for the New
Jerusalem."

"You don't think there'll be curling there, Thomas?" I said.

"I dinna ken," he answered, "but I'm no' despairin'. They aye speak o't
as a land where everlasting spring abides; but I hae ma doots. There'll
be times when the ice'll hold, I'm thinkin'. Yon crystal river's no' for
naethin'."

Geordie Lorimer was my skip that day, and soon the armoured floor was
echoing to the "roarin' game," the largest, noblest, brotherliest game
known to mortal men. The laird and the cottar were there, the homely
shepherd and the village snab who cobbled his shoes, the banker and the
carter, the manufacturer and the mechanic--all on that oft-quoted
platform which is built alone of curlers' ice.

"Lay me a pat-lid richt here, man. Soop her up--soop, soop, man. Get her
by the gaird. Let her be. I'm wrang, bring her ben the hoose.
Stop--stop, I'm tellin' ye. Noo, soop, soop her in, man."

"Noo, minister, be up this time," cries Geordie. "Soop, soop her up.
That's a graun' yin, minister. Shake ye yir ain haun'. Gin yir sermons
were deleevered like yir stanes, there wadna be an empty seat i' the
kirk. Lat her dee, she's ower fiery. That'll dae fine for a gaird, an'
Tam'll be fashed to get roun' ye."

Thus roared the game along, and at its close Geordie and I were putting
our stones away together, flushed with victory. The occasion seemed
favourable for the moral influence which it was my constant aim to
exercise.

"By the way, Geordie," I began, "I have not seen you in the kirk of
late."

"What's that?" said Geordie, his invariable challenge, securing time to
adjust himself for the e