fastened there generations ago, they say, for tying your horse to. But the bark's grown over it till it's well nigh hidden. The others are walnut trees. They get bushels of fine nuts off them in the autumn. That's why there are so many squirrels hereabouts. I think it'd be fine to be a squirrel, Mr. Vale, always independent, and out of reach, livin' up next the sky, and speirin' for nuts."
"I'm afraid you're a dissatisfied fellow, Newbigging," Derek said, laughing.
"Weel, I micht have done worse. I'd sooner be mysel', for instance, than Chaird yonder, goin' off to the Methodist Chapel wi' his fat wife, and eight yellow-faced bairns."
Derek had a glimpse of a waggonette, packed with his neighbour's family and drawn by the yellow-maned horses. Newbigging gave a sly smile. He said:
"I suppose you'll be wantin' me to get the dogcart for ye? There'll be no time to spare."
"Thanks; no," said Derek. "But I suppose you and the other Scots are going. You're a nation of churchgoers, aren't you?"
"When we're at home perhaps. But not one of the three of us have been inside a church since we left the Old Land. But I'm English Church mysel'. I used to sing in the choir in St. Mary's, in Dundee, when I was a lad." He looked thoughtful for a moment and then he said:
"Look here, Mr. Vale. If I get the cart for ye, would ye drive to the English Church at Brancepeth? Mr. Jerrold and his daughter go there. It's a pretty drive along the shore." He looked genuinely eager.
To Derek suddenly came a recollection of the two figures on horseback, and of the brightness of Miss Jerrold's hair under her black hat . . . and he had not yet seen Brancepeth. "Very well, Newbigging," he said, "I believe I shall go to church."
