midday
Fergus Morrison was in his old town for a few days . He was staying with the aunt who had brought him up , schooled him , marshalled him to the Burgher Kirk like a decent Renfrewshire callant , and finally had sent him off to Glasgow to get colleged . Colleged he was in due course , and had long been placed in an influential church in the city . On the afternoon of the Saturday he was dreamily soliloquising after the plain midday meal to which his aunt adhered . Old things had been passing before him during these last days , and the coming of the smart church-officer for the psalms and hymns for the morrow awoke in the Reverend Fergus Morrison a desire to know about `` John , '' the wonderful beadle of old times , to whose enlarged duties his late spruce visitor had succeeded . He smiled fitfully as he brooded over old things and old times ; and when his aunt came in from washing up the dinner dishes , he asked concerning `` John . '' He was surprised to find that , though frail , bent double with rheumatism , and nearly blind , he was still alive ; and living , too , as of yore , in the same old cottage with its gable-end to the street .