Part 2 (1/2)

”Yes, yes, Miss Robina,” said I; ”that's quite satisfactory; and so, I'll fill in your name now, if you please.”

”Yes,” she uttered, with a sigh. When we came to the age column--”Is it absolutely necessary,” said she, ”to fill in the age? Don't you think it is a most impertinent question to ask, Mr. M'Lauchlin?”

”Tuts, it may be so to some folk; but to a sweet young creature like you, it cannot matter a b.u.t.ton.” ”Well,” said Miss Robina--”but now, Mr. M'Lauchlin, I'm to tell you a great secret”; and she blushed as she slowly continued: ”The minister comes sometimes to see us.”

”I _have_ noticed him rather more attentive in his visitations in your quarter of late, than usual, Miss Robina.”

”Very well, Mr. M'Lauchlin; but you must not tease me just now. You know Miss M'Farlane is of opinion that he is in love with her; while Miss Susan thinks her taste for literature and her knowledge of geology, especially her pamphlet on the Old Red Sandstone and its fossils as confirming the old Mosaic record, are all matters of great interest to Mr. Frazer, and she fancies that he comes so frequently for the privilege of conversing with her. But,” exclaimed Miss Robina, with a look of triumph, ”look at that!” and she held in her hand a beautiful gold ring. ”I have got that from the minister this very day!”

I congratulated her. She had been a favorite pupil of mine, and I was rather pleased with what happened. ”But what,” I asked her, ”has all this to do with the census?”

”Oh, just this,” continued Miss Robina, ”I had no reason to conceal my age, as Mr. Frazer knows it exactly, since he baptized me. He was a young creature then, only three-and-twenty; so that's just the difference between us.”

”Nothing at all, Miss Robina,” said I; ”nothing at all; not worth mentioning.”

”In this changeful and pa.s.sing world,” said Miss Robina, ”three-and-twenty years are not much after all, Mr. M'Lauchlin!”

”Much!” said I. ”Tuts, my dear, it's nothing--just, indeed, what should be.”

”I was just thirty-four last birthday, Mr. M'Lauchlin,” said Miss Robina; ”and the minister said the last time he called that no young lady should take the cares and responsibilities of a household upon herself till she was--well, eight-and-twenty; and he added that thirty-four was late enough.”

”The minister, my dear, is a man of sense.”

So thus were the Miss M'Farlanes' census schedules filled up; and if ever some one in search of the curiosities of the census should come across it, he may think it strange enough, for he will find that the three sisters M'Farlane are all ae year's bairns!

=Distributing His Praises with Discernment=

Will Stout was a bachelor and parish beadle, residing with his old mother who lived to the age of nearly a hundred years. In mature life he was urged by some friends to take a wife. He was very cautious, however, in regard to matrimony, and declined the advice, excusing himself on the ground ”that there are many things you can say to your mither you couldna say to a fremit (strange) woman.”

While beadle, he had seen four or five different ministers in the parish, and had buried two or three of them. And although his feelings became somewhat blunted regarding the sacredness of graves in general, yet he took a somewhat tender care of the spot where the ministers lay.

After his extended experience, he was asked to give his deliberate judgment as to which of them he had liked best. His answer was guarded; he said he did not know, as they were all good men. But being further pressed and asked if he had no preference, after a little thought he again admitted that they were all ”guid men, guid men; but Mr.

Mathieson's claes fitted me best.”

One of the new inc.u.mbents, knowing Will's interest in the clothes, thought that at an early stage he would gain his favor by presenting him with a coat. To make him conscious of the kindly service he was doing, the minister informed him that it was almost new. Will took the garment, examined it with a critical eye, and having thoroughly satisfied himself, p.r.o.nounced it ”a guid coat,” but pawkily added: ”When Mr. Watt, the old minister, gied me a coat, he gied me breeks as weel.”

The new minister, who was fortunately gifted with a sense of humor, could not do less than complete Will's rig-out from top to toe, and so established himself as a permanent favorite with the beadle.

=Mallet, Plane and Sermon--All Wooden=

In olden times, the serviceable beadle was armed with a small wooden ”n.o.b” or mallet, with which he was quietly commissioned to ”tap” gently but firmly the heads of careless sleepers in church during the sermon.

An instance to hand is very amusing.

In the old town of Kilbarchan, which is celebrated in Scottish poetry as the birthplace of Habbie Simpson, the piper and verse maker of the clachan, once lived and preached a reverend original, whose pulpit ministrations were of the old-fas.h.i.+oned, hodden-gray type, being humdrum and innocent of all spirit-rousing eloquence and force. Like many of his clerical brethren, he was greatly annoyed every Sunday at the sight of several of his paris.h.i.+oners sleeping throughout the sermon. He was especially angry with Johnny Plane, the village joiner, who dropped off to sleep every Sunday afternoon simultaneously with the formal delivery of the text. Johnny had been ”touched” by the old beadle's mallet on several occasions, but only in a gentle though persuasive manner. At last, one day the minister, provoked beyond endurance at the sight of the joiner soundly sleeping, lost his temper.

”Johnny Plane!” cried the reverend gentleman, stopping his discourse and eyeing the culprit severely, ”are ye really sleeping already, and me no'

half through the first head?”

The joiner, easy man, was quite oblivious to things celestial and mundane, and noticed not the rebuke.