The Curling Season 129

“ Hold me tight,” the doctor whispered to
Gavin, “or I'll be leaving you to drive Nanny
to the poorhouse by yourself.”

He had no sooner said this, than he tried to
jump out of the trap.

“You donnert fule, John Robbie,” he shouted
to a player, “soop her up, man, soop her up; no,
no, dinna, dinna; leave her alane. Bailie, leave
her alane, you blazing idiot. Mr. Dishart, let
me go; what do you mean, sir, by hanging on to
my coat tails? Dang it all, Duthie’s winning.
He has it, he has it!”

“You're to play, doctor?” some cried, running
to the dog-cart. ‘‘ We hae missed you sair.”

“ Jeames, 1—I— No, I daurna.”

“Then we get our licks. I never saw the
minister in sic form. We can do nothing against
him.”

“Then, cried McQueen, “I'll play. Come
what will, I'll play. Let go my tails, Mr. Dish-
art, or I’ll cut them off. Duty?  Fiddle-
sticks!”

“Shame on you, sir,’ said Gavin; “yes, and
on you others who would entice him from his
duty.” y

“Shame!” the doctor cried. ‘ Look at Mr.
Duthie. Is he ashamed? And yet that man
has been reproving. me for a twelvemonths, be-
cause I’ve refused to become one of his elders.
Duthie,” he shouted, “think shame of yourself
for curling this day.”

Mr. Duthie had carefully turned his back to
the trap, for Gavin’s presence in it annoyed him.
We seldom care to be reminded of our duty by