See and don't quarrel with Mrs. McRankine; and,
above all, don't argue with her, or you'll get the worst of it.
Whatever she says, touch your forelock and say, "If you please!" or
"I beg pardon, ma'am." And let me tell you one thing: I am sorry,
but you have to go to church with her again this afternoon. That's
duty, my boy!'
As I had foreseen, the bells had scarce begun before Mrs. McRankine
presented herself to be our escort, upon which I sprang up with
readiness and offered her my arm. Rowley followed behind. I was
beginning to grow accustomed to the risks of my stay in Edinburgh,
and it even amused me to confront a new churchful. I confess the
amusement did not last until the end; for if Dr. Gray were long,
Mr. McCraw was not only longer, but more incoherent, and the matter
of his sermon (which was a direct attack, apparently, on all the
Churches of the world, my own among the number), where it had not
the tonic quality of personal insult, rather inclined me to
slumber. But I braced myself for my life, kept up Rowley with the
end of a pin, and came through it awake, but no more.
Bethiah was quite conquered by this 'mark of grace,' though, I am
afraid, she was also moved by more worldly considerations. The
first is, the lady had not the least objection to go to church on
the arm of an elegantly dressed young gentleman, and be followed by
a spruce servant with a cockade in his hat.
Pages:
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363