n' the bonnie days whan Angus Mac Pholp was the deil
we did fear, an' Hornie the deil we didna.--Losh, man! what wad come
o' me gien I hed to say my prayers in English! I doobt gien 't wad
come oot prayin' at a'!"

I am well aware that most Scotch people of that date tried to say
their prayers in English, but not so Janet or Robert, and not so had
they taught their children. I fancy not a little unreality was thus
in their case avoided.

"What will you do when you are a minister?" asked Gibbie on his
fingers.

"Me a minnister?" echoed Donal. "Me a minnister!" he repeated.
"Losh, man! gien I can save my ain sowl, it'll be a' 'at I'm fit
for, ohn lo'dent it wi' a haill congregation o' ither fowk's. Na,
na; gien I can be a schuilmaister, an' help the bairnies to be guid,
as my mither taucht mysel', an' hae time to read, an' a feow
shillin's to buy buiks aboot Aigypt an' the Holy Lan', an' a full
an' complete edition o' Plato, an' a Greek Lexicon--a guid ane, an'
a Jamieson's Dictionar', haith, I'll be a hawpy man! An' gien I
dinna like the schuilmaisterin', I can jist tak to the wark again,
whilk I cudna dee sae weel gien I had tried the preachin': fowk wad
ca' me a stickit minister! Or maybe they'll gie me the sheep to
luik efter upo' Glashgar, whan they're ower muckle for my father,
an' that wad weel content me. Only I wad hae to bigg a bit mair to
the hoosie, to haud my buiks: I maun hae buiks. I wad get the
newspapers whiles, but no aften, for they're a sair loss o' precious
time. Ye see they tell ye things afore they're sure, an' ye hae to
spen' yer time the day readin' what ye'll hae to spen' yer time the
morn readin' oot again; an' ye may as weel bide till the thing's
sattled a wee. I wad jist lat them fecht things oot 'at thoucht
they saw hoo they oucht to gang; an' I wad gie them guid mutton to
haud them up to their dreary wark, an' maybe a sangy noo an' than
'at wad help them to drap it a'thegither."

"But wouldn't you like to have a wife, Donal, and children, like
your father and mother?" spelt Gibbie.

"Na, na; nae wife for me, Gibbie!" answered the philosopher. "Wha
wad hae aither a pure schuilmaister or a shepherd?--'cep' it was
maybe some lass like my sister Nicie, 'at wadna ken Euclid frae her
hose, or Burns frae a mill-dam, or conic sections frae the hole i'
the great peeramid."

"I don't like to hear you talk like that, Donal," said Gibbie. "What
do you say to mother?"

"Th