"Hast any philosophy in thee?"  
As You Like It.
 
Miss Bella Bathgate was a staunch supporter of the Parish Kirk. She had no use for any other , and no sympathy with any but the Presbyterian form of worship. Episcopalians she regarded as beneath contempt, and classed them in her own mind with "Papists"—people who were more and almost as ignorant as "the heathen" for whom she collected small sums quarterly, and for whom the minister prayed as "sitting in darkness." Miss Bathgate had developed a real, if somewhat contemptuous, affection for Mawson, her lodger's maid, but she never ceased to pour scorn on her "English ways" and her English worship. If Mawson had not been one of the gentlest of creatures she would not have tolerated it for a day.
 
One wet and windy evening Bella sat waiting for Mawson to come in to supper. She had gone to a week-night service at the church, greatly excited because the was to be present. The supper was ready and keeping hot in the oven, the fire sparkled in the bright range, and Bella sat and singing to herself, "From Greenland's icy mountains." For Bella was interested in missions. The needs of the heathen lay on her heart. Every penny she could scrape together went into "the box." The War had reduced her small income, and she could no longer live without letting her rooms, but whatever she had to do without her contributions to missions never ; indeed, they had increased. Missions were the romance of her life. They put a thread into the grey. The one woman she had ever envied was Mary Slessor of Calabar.
 
Mawson came in much out of breath, having run up the hill to get out of the darkness.
 
"Weel, and hoo's the Bishop?" Bella said in jocular tones.
 
"Ow, 'e was lovely. 'E said the was 'anging over all of us."
 
"Oh, wumman," said Bella, as she dumped a loaf viciously on the platter, "d'ye need a Bishop to tell ye that? I'm sure I've kent it a' ma days."
 
"It gives me the creeps to think of it. Imagine standin' h'up before h'all the earth and 'aving all your little bits o' sins fetched out against you! But"—hopefully—"I don't see myself 'ow there'll be time."
 
"Ay, there'll be time! There'll be a' afore us, and as far as I can see there'll be naething else to do."
 
"Ow," Mawson . "You do make it sound so 'orrid, Bella. The Bishop was much more comfortable, and 'e 'as such a nice face you can't picture anything very bad 'appening to 'im. But I suppose 'll be judged like everyone else."
 
"They will that." Bella's tone was , almost .
 
"Oh, well," said Mawson, who looked consistently on the bright sides, "I dare say they won't pay much h'attention to the likes of us when they've Kings and Bishops and M.P.'s and London ladies to judge. Their sins will be a bit more interestin' than my little lot…. Well, I'll be glad of a cup of tea, for it's thirsty work listening to sermons. I'll just lay me 'at and coat down 'ere, if you don't mind, Bella. Now, this is . I was thinkin' of this as I came paddin' over the bridge listening to the sound of the wind and the water. A river's a frightenin' sort of thing at night and after 'earin' about the Judgment too."
 
Miss Bathgate took a savoury-smelling dish from the oven and put it, along with two hot plates, before Mawson, then put the teapot before herself and they began.
 
"Whaur's Miss Reston the nicht?" Bella asked, as she helped herself to hot buttered toast.
 
"Dinin' with Sir John and Lady Tweedie. She's wearin' a lovely new gown, sort of yellow. It suited her a treat. I must say she did look noble. She is 'andsome, don't you think?"
 
"Terrible lang and lean," said Miss Bathgate. "But I'm no denyin' that there's a kind o' look aboot her that's no common. She would mak' a guid queen if we had ony need o' anither." "She makes a good mistress anyway," said loyal Mawson.
 
"Oh, she's no bad," Bella admitted. "An' I must say she disna gie much trouble—but it's an idle life for ony wumman. I canna see why Miss Reston, wi' a' her aboot her, needs you hingin' round her. Mercy me, what's to hinder her pu'in ribbons through her ain underclothes, if ribbons are necessary, which they're not. There's Mrs. Muir next door, wi' six bairns, an' a' the wark o' the hoose to dae an' washin's forbye, an' here's Miss Reston never liftin' a finger except to pu' silk threads through a bit stuff. That's what makes folk ."
 
Mawson, who belonged to that fast disappearing body, the real servant class, and who, without a thought of envy, delighted in the possession of her mistress, looked sadly puzzled.
 
"But, Beller, don't you think things work out more h'even than they seem? Mrs. M............