Chris said she supposed she thought the same, had always thought so, but that didn’t matter, if Ewan wanted God she wouldn’t try and stop him; there was plenty of mess to redd up in the world on the road to where He was maybe to be found. Ma said she didn’t believe there was, this daft Red religion was maybe needed in places where there was a lot of corruption, coarse kings that ran away with folks’ silver and prime ministers just drunken sots. But where would you find the like in Duncairn? … Now, don’t start on me, we’ll just away home. Eh me, to think of those New York childes tearing after the women like yon! Where would you see the like in Duncairn?

With one thing and another it was late that night afore Chris went up the stairs to her bed, Ewan had looked round the kitchen door and cried good night a good hour before, Ma had gone off to dream of New York, the rest of the lodgers were sound in their beds. And Chris was taking off her clothes, slow, tired to death with the evening’s outing—why did folk waste their time in touns, in filth and stour and looking at shadows when they might have slipped away up the Howe and smelt the smell of the harvest—oh! bonny lying somewhere on a night like this! … And just as she sat and thought of that, not sad but tired, she heard a commotion above her head, the clatter of footsteps, and syne a door bang, a woman’s voice—for a minute she was back in the Picturedrome, watching and hearing that shadow-play that was never limned in a toun like Duncairn—And then as a bigger stamash broke out she opened the door and ran up the stairs.

Ake Ogilvie told the tale the next day to Ma Cleghorn, Ma lying at rest in her bed, she’d gone to bed with a steek in her side and was lying fair wearied till Ake looked in. He said Ay, woman, I hear you’re not well? and Ma said his hearing was still in fair order—sit down and gie’s a bit of your crack. How are you and your Provost creature getting on?

So Ake filled up his pipe, sitting sonsy, green-eyed, with his curling mouser and Auld Nick brows, a pretty childe as Ma had thought often. And he said the Provost’s bit influence had been fairly heard in this house last night, hadn’t the mistress been waked by the noise? And Ma asked What noise? Was the Provost here? and Ake said No, God, the lass escaped that, it was only one of his Bacchic chums.

Syne he started to tell of the Saturday outing of the Duncairn Council to High Scaur Hill. Ma knew of the new waterworks built there?—Ay, she’d known, faith, or at least her rates had. Well, the official inspection had been billed for the Saturday and the Provost had come to Ake at the sawmill and said that he’d want him to join the bit outing, he’d want his opinion on the timber-work. And Ake had said Ay, he didn’t much mind, though he’d little liking for councillors and such. Still, the poor Bulgars have to live somehow, haven’t they, Jimmy? and the Provost grinned sick and said he was still the same old Ake.