Part 2 (1/2)

”Come here now, laddie, and see if you can say your catechism. Do you ken what is the chief end of man?”

”Dod, and I do,” answered Jock. ”You let me spier the questions.”

”No,” answered Jean firmly. ”I'll spier them first myself.”

”You're thinking I can't answer,” said Jock. ”I'll fool you.”

He stood up as straight as a whole row of soldiers and fired off the answer all in one breath.

”The-chief-end-of-man-is-to-glorify-G.o.d-and-enjoy-Him-forever,”

he shouted.

Jean nodded approvingly. ”You ken that one all right, but that is the first one in the book and everybody knows that one. Now I'm going to skip around.”

”Don't skip,” urged Jock. ”Take them just the way they come. I can remember 'em better.”

But Jean gave no quarter. ”What is predestination?” she demanded.

This was a poser, but Jock tackled it bravely.

”Whom he did foreknow he also did predestinate to-to-” he got so far and stuck.

”To what?” asked Jean.

”To be reformed,” Jock hazarded, wallowing in difficulties.

”Conformed,” corrected Jean. ”You don't know that one at all!

What is Saving Grace?”

Jock fell down entirely on saving grace. ”It's a--It's a--” he began. Then he bit his lip and scowled, and looked up at the ham hanging from the rafters, and out of the windows, but as nothing more about saving grace occurred to him he said, ”Aw, Jean, I know, but I can't think.”

”If you knew, you wouldn't have to think,” Jean retorted, and then she made him take the book and sit down on the stool by the window and learn both answers while she finished the dishes.

It was ten miles to the village and back, and there was no way to get there except by walking, but the Campbells would sooner have thought of going without their food than of staying away from the Kirk, and so by eight o'clock they were all dressed in their best clothes and ready to start. They left True Tammas sitting on the doorstep with his ears drooped and his eyes looking very sorrowful. He wanted to go with them, but he knew well that he must stay at home to guard the sheep from stray dogs.

It was springtime, and the world was so lovely that the troubles the little family had faced the evening before seemed far away and impossible in the morning light. It was as if they had awakened from a bad dream. Who could help being happy on such a morning? The birds were flying about with straw and bits of wool in their bills to weave into their nests, and singing as if they would split their little throats. The river splashed and gurgled and sang as it dashed over its rocky bed on its way to the sea.

From the village came the distant music of the church bells. The hawthorn was in bloom, and the river-banks and roadsides were gay with dandelions and violets, daisies and b.u.t.tercups. Far away the mountains lifted their blue summits to the sky, and on a nearer hill they could see the gray towers of the castle of the Laird of Glen Cairn.

The bell was ringing its final summons and all the people were pouring into the little vestibule as the Campbells reached the steps of the Kirk. Angus Niel pushed past them, looking as puffy as a turkey-c.o.c.k with its feathers spread, and glaring at the Twins so fiercely that Jock whispered to Jean, ”If I poked my finger at him I believe he'd gobble,” and made her almost laugh aloud. When they pa.s.sed Mr. Craigie, who held the plate for people to drop their money in, Jean whispered to Jock, ”He looks for all the world like a pair of tongs in his blacks, he's that tall and thin,” and then Jock certainly would have laughed outright if he hadn't seen Mrs. Crumpet's eye on him.

The sermon was very long and the seats were hard and high, but the service did come to an end at last, although Jock was sure it was never going to, and afterward the children with their father stood about in the churchyard for a little while talking to their neighbors and friends.

The farm of Andrew Crumpet lay in the same direction as the home of the Campbells, so it was natural that they should walk along together and that the two men should talk about the thing that was uppermost in their minds. Mrs. Crumpet had gone on ahead with another neighbor, and Sandy Crumpet, who was twelve too, and had yellow hair, a snub nose, and freckles like Jock's own, walked with the Twins behind the two fathers. As they turned into the road, the children heard Andrew say, with a heavy sigh: ”Aye, Robin, we must just make up our minds to it. The Auld Laird's bent on getting us out.”

”Has Mr. Craigie given you notice, too?” asked the Shepherd.

”Aye, has he,” Andrew answered with bitterness, ”and short work he made of it. It means little to him telling a man to leave his home and go out in the world to seek new work at our time of life.”