"'Twill be a scandal in the kirk.

I'll lose all my five patients.

Horrid little bird!" Smiling, he drew himself from the embrace of the faintly shining water and retiring to the willow screen began to dress with that virtuous leisureliness which characterises those who rise before their fellows.
He had the world to himself; a world of cool, sweet scents, pure light and Sabbath quiet--that wonderful quiet which seems a living thing with a personality of its own, so different is it from the ordinary quiet of work-a-day mornings.
The primrose sky gave promise of a beautiful day.

The blue grey vault overhead was already filling with shimmering golden light, the drooping willows and the dew-wet grass were stirring in the breeze of dawn, the voice of the water sang in the stillness.
Callandar slipped his blue tie snugly under the collar of his white flannel shirt and sighed with the ecstasy of health renewed.

A half-forgotten couplet hummed through his brain.
"Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright! The bridal of the earth and sky--" "And it's a hymn, too, or I'm a Dutchman," he declared, much edified.
"That proves that swimming on Sunday is quite compatible with proper orthodoxy of mind.