as no affair of his
and they might have it. But it was the sermon that always put him into
a fighting humour. For never a preacher stood up there on St. Andrew's
Sunday but made some unfortunate reference to Bannockburn and Scots Wha
Hae, and a great many other things calculated to rouse any Englishman's
ire.

Mr. Thornton had never openly rebelled, however, and the St. Andrew's
sermon came each year with only a few mild explosions following. But
this year the celebration caused a serious disturbance, and as so often
happened, it started with Lawyer Ed.

That lively Irish gentleman had already joined almost every
organisation in the town, and there suddenly came to him a great desire
to join the Sons of Scotland also. His mother was a Scottish lady of
Highland birth, and he himself had a deep-rooted affection for anything
or anybody connected with the land o' cakes. So on the eve of this St.
Andrew's celebration he joined the order and became a true Son of
Scotland himself.

Mr. Thornton had gone away for a couple of weeks on a business trip and
knew nothing of this new departure of his friend. He came home late on
Saturday night before St. Andrew's Sunday, and went to church the next
morning, all unsuspecting that at that moment Ed was falling into line
down at the lodge room, his plaidie the brightest, his bonnet the
trimmest and his heather sprig the biggest of all the procession.

The Scotchmen had turned out nearly a hundred strong this morning, for
the minister from the city was a great man with a continental
reputation. It was a beautifully clear, brilliant day, too, one of
those days that only the much maligned November can bring, with
dazzling cloudless skies and an exhilarating tang of frost-nipped
leaves in the air. So the Scotchmen were all there, even old Angus
McRae and his son, the young Highlander looking very handsome in his
regalia.

Jock McPherson and the Captain of the _Inverness_ were there too.
Captain Jimmie was in his glory, but Mr. McPherson looked as if he were
preparing to object to everything about him. Each recurring St.
Andrew's Sunday found the Elder more and more inclined to think that
this Sabbath parade was scarcely in keeping with the day. But he was a
true Scot at heart, and no amount of orthodoxy could keep him out of
it. He felt this morning, however, that matters had gone a bit too
far, for the warm day had tempted Archie Blair, and he had come out in
the kilt, hi