Farms were held on lease in Drumtochty, and according to a good old
custom descended from father to son, so that some of the farmers'
forbears had been tenants as long as Lord Kilspindie's ancestors had
been owners. If a family died out, then a successor from foreign parts
had to be introduced, and it was in this way Milton made his appearance
and scandalised the Glen with a new religion. It happened also in our
time that Gormack, having quarrelled with the factor about a feeding
byre he wanted built, flung up his lease in a huff, and it was taken
at an enormous increase by a guileless tradesman from Muirtown, who
had made his money by selling “pigs” (crockery-ware), and believed that
agriculture came by inspiration. Optimists expected that his cash might
last for two years, but pessimists declared their belief that a year
would see the end of the “merchant's” experiment, and Gormack watched
the course of events from a hired house at Kildrummie.
Jamie Soutar used to give him “a cry” on his way to the station, and
brought him the latest news.
“It's maybe juist as weel that ye retired frae business, Gormack, for
the auld fairm's that spruced up ye wud hardly ken it wes the same
place.
“The merchant's put ventilators intae the feedin' byre, and he's
speakin' aboot glass windows tae keep the stots frae wearyin', an' as
for inventions, the place is fair scatted up wi' them. There's ain that
took me awfu'; it's for peelin' the neeps tae mak them tasty for the
cattle beasts.
“Ye hed nae method, man, and a' dinna believe ye hed an inspection a'
the years ye were at Gormack. Noo, the merchant is up at half eicht, and
gaes ower the hale steadin' wi' Robbie Duff at his heels, him 'at he's
got for idle grieve, an' he tries the corners wi' his handkerchief tae
see that there's nae stoor (dust).
“It wud dae ye gude tae see his library; the laist day I saw him he
wes readin' a book on 'Comparative Agriculture' afore his door, and
he explained hoo they grow the maize in Sooth Ameriky; it wes verra
interestin'; a' never got as muckle information frae ony fairmer in
Drumtochty.”
“A'm gled ye cam in, Jamie,” was all Gormack said, “for I wes near
takin' this hoose on a three-year lease. Ae year 'ill be eneuch noo, a'm
thinkin'.”
Within eighteen months of his removal Gormack was again in possession at
the old rent, and with a rebate for the first year to compensate him for
the merchant's improvements.
“It 'ill tak the feck o' twa years,” he explained in the kirkyard, “tae
bring the place roond an' pit the auld face on it.
“The byres are nae better than a pair o' fanners wi' wind, and if he
hesna planted the laighfield wf berry bushes; an' a've seen the barley
fifty-five pund wecht in that very field.
“It's a doonricht sin tae abuse the land like yon, but it 'ill be a
lesson, neeburs, an' a'm no expeckin' anither pig merchant 'ill get a
fairm in Drumtochty.”
This incident raised Gormack into a historical personage, and invested
him with an association of humour for the rest of his life, so that when
conversation languished in the third some one would ask Gormack “what he
hed dune wi' his ventilators,” or “hoo the berry hairst wes shapin' this
year.”
One could not expect a comedy of this kind twice in a generation, but
the arranging of a lease was always an event of the first order in our
commonwealth, and afforded fine play for every resource of diplomacy.
The two contracting parties were the factor, who spent his days
in defending his chief's property from the predatory instincts of
enterprising farmers, and knew every move of the game, a man of shrewd
experience, imperturbable good humour, and many wiles, and on the other
side, a farmer whose wits had been sharpened by the Shorter Catechism
since he was a boy,--with the Glen as judges. Farms were not put in the
_Advertiser_ on this estate, and thrown open to the public from Dan to
Beersheba, so that there was little risk of the tenant losing his home.
Neither did the adjustment of rent give serious trouble, as the fair
value of every farm, down to the bit of hill above the arable land and
the strips of natural grass along the burns, was known to a pound. There
were skirmishes over the rent, of course, but the battle-ground was the
number of improvements which the tenant could wring from the landlord at
the making of the lease. Had a tenant been in danger of eviction, then
the Glen had risen in arms, as it did in the case of Burnbrae; but this
was a harmless trial of strength which the Glen watched with critical
impartiality. The game was played slowly between seedtime and harvest,
and each move was reported in the kirkyard. Its value was appreciated at
once, and although there was greater satisfaction when a neighbour won,
yet any successful stroke of the factor's was keenly enjoyed--the beaten
party himself conceding its cleverness. When the factor so manipulated
the conditions of draining Netherton's meadow land that Netherton had
to pay for the tiles, the kirkyard chuckled, and Netherton admitted
next market that the factor “wes a lad”--meaning a compliment to his
sharpness, for all things were fair in this war--and when Drumsheugh
involved the same factor in so many different and unconnected promises
of repairs that it was found cheaper in the end to build him a new
steading, the fathers had no bounds to their delight; and Whinnie, who
took an hour longer than any other man to get a proper hold of anything,
suddenly slapped his leg in the middle of the sermon.
No genuine Scotchman ever thought the less of a neighbour because he
could drive a hard bargain, and any sign of weakness in such encounters
exposed a man to special contempt in our community. No mercy was shown
to one who did not pay the last farthing when a bargain had been made,
but there was little respect for the man who did not secure the same
farthing when the bargain was being made. If a Drumtochty farmer had
allowed his potatoes to go to “Piggie” Walker at that simple-minded
merchant's first offer, instead of keeping “Pig-gie” all day and
screwing him up ten shillings an acre every second hour, we would have
shaken our heads over him as if he had been drinking, and the well-known
fact that Drumsheugh had worsted dealers from far and near at Muirtown
market for a generation was not his least solid claim on our respect.
When Mrs. Macfadyen allowed it to ooze out in the Kildrummie train that
she had obtained a penny above the market price for her butter, she
received a tribute of silent admiration, broken only by an emphatic
“Sall” from Hillocks, while Drumsheugh expressed himself freely on the
way up:
“Elspeth's an able wumman; there 's no a slack bit aboot her. She wud
get her meat frae among ither fouks' feet.”
There never lived a more modest or unassuming people, but the
horse couper that tried to play upon their simplicity did not boast
afterwards, and no one was known to grow rich on his dealings with
Drumtochty.
This genius for bargaining was of course seen to most advantage in
the affair of a lease; and a year ahead, long before lease had been
mentioned, a “cannie” man like Hillocks would be preparing for the
campaign. Broken panes of glass in the stable were stuffed with straw
after a very generous fashion; cracks in a byre door were clouted over
with large pieces of white wood; rickety palings were ostentatiously
supported; and the interior of Hillocks' house suggested hard-working
and cleanly poverty struggling to cover the defects of a hovel.
Neighbours dropping in during those days found Hillocks wandering about
with a hammer, putting in a nail here and a nail there, or on the top
of the barn trying to make it water-tight before winter, with the air
of one stopping leaks in the hope of keeping the ship afloat till
she reaches port. But he made no complaint, and had an air of forced
cheerfulness.
“Na, na, yir no interruptin' me; a 'm rael gled tae see ye; a' wes juist
doin' what a' cud tae keep things thegither.
“An auld buildin's a sair trachle, an' yir feared tae meddle wi 't, for
ye micht bring it doon aboot yir ears.
“But it's no reasonable tae expeck it tae last for ever; it's dune weel
and served its time; a' mind it as snod a steadin' as ye wud wish tae
see, when a' wes a laddie saxty year past.
“Come in tae the hoose, and we 'ill see what the gude wife hes in her
cupboard. Come what may, the 'ill aye be a drop for a freend as lang as
a'm leevin.”
“Dinna put yir hat there, for the plaister's been failin', an' it micht
white it; come ower here frae the window; it's no very fast, and the
wind comes in at the holes. Man, it 's a pleesure tae see ye, an' here's
yir gude health.”
When Hillocks went abroad to kirk or market he made a brave endeavour to
conceal his depression, but it was less than successful.
“Yon 's no a bad show o' aits ye hae in the wast park the year,
Hillocks; a'm thinkin' the 'ill buke weel.”
“Their lukes are the best o' them, Netherton; they 're thin on the grund
an' sma' in the head, but a' cudna expeck better, for the land 's fair
worn oot; it wes a gude fairm aince, wi' maybe thirty stacks in the
yaird every hairst, and noo a'm no lookin' for mair than twenty the
year.”
“Weel, there's nae mistak aboot yir neeps, at ony rate; ye canna see a
dreel noo.”
“That wes guano, Netherton; a'hed tae dae something tae get an ootcome
wi' ae crap, at ony rate; we maun get the rent some road, ye ken, and
pay oor just debts.”
Hillocks conveyed the impression that he was gaining a bare existence,
but that he could not maintain the fight for more than a year, and the
third became thoughtful.
“Div ye mind, Netherton,” inquired Drumsheugh on his way from Muirtown
station to the market, “hoo mony years Hillocks's 'tack' (lease) hes tae
rin?”
“No abune twa or three at maist; a 'm no sure if he hes as muckle.”
“It's oot Martinmas a year as sure yir stannin' there; he 's an auld
farrant (far-seeing) lad, Hillocks.”
It was known within a week that Hillocks was setting things in order for
the battle.
The shrewdest people have some weak point, and Drumtochty was subject to
the delusion that old Peter Robertson, the land steward, had an immense
back-stairs influence with the factor and his lordship. No one could
affirm that Peter had ever said as much, but he never denied it, not
having been born in Drumtochty in vain. He had a habit of detaching
himself from the fathers and looking in an abstracted way over the wall
when they were discussing the factor or the prospects of a lease, which
was more than words, and indeed was equal to a small annual income.
“Ye ken mair o' this than ony o' us, a 'm thinkin', Peter, if ye cud
open yir mooth; they say naebody's word gaes farther wi' his lordship.”
“There's some fouk say a lot of havers, Drumsheugh, an' it 's no a' true
ye hear,” and after a pause Peter would purse his lips and nod. “A 'm no
at leeberty tae speak, an' ye maunna press me.”
When he disappeared into the kirk his very gait was full of mystery, and
the fathers seemed to see his lordship and Peter sitting in council for
nights together.
“Didna a' tell ye, neeburs?” said Drumsheugh triumphantly; “ye 'ill no
gae far wrang gin ye hae Peter on yir side.”
Hillocks held this faith, and added works also, for he compassed Peter
with observances all the critical year, although the word lease never
passed between them.
“Ye wud be the better o' new seed, Peter,” Hillocks remarked casually,
as he came on the land steward busy in his potato patch. “A 've some
kidneys a' dinna ken what tae dae wi'; a 'll send ye up a bag.”
“It's rael kind of ye, Hillocks, but ye were aye neeburly.”
“Dinna speak o't; that 's naething atween auld neeburs. Man, ye micht
gie 's a look in when yir passin' on yir trokes. The gude wife hes some
graund eggs for setting.”
It was considered a happy device to get Peter to the spot, and
Hillocks's management of the visit was a work of art.
“Maister Robertson wud maybe like tae see thae kebbocks (cheeses) yir
sending aff tae Muirtown, gude wife, afore we hae oor tea.
“We canna get intae the granary the richt way, for the stair is no
chancy noo, an' it wudna dae tae hae an accident wi' his lordship's land
steward,” and Hillocks exchanged boxes over the soothing words.
“We 'ill get through the corn-room, but Losh sake, tak care ye dinna
trip in the holes o' the floor. A' canna mend mair at it, an' it's
scandalous for wastin' the grain.
“It's no sae bad a granary if we hedna tae keep the horses' hay in it,
for want o' a richt loft.
“Man, there's times in winter a 'm at ma wits' end wi' a' the cattle
in aboot, an' naethin' for them but an open reed (court), an' the wife
raging for a calves' byre; but that's no what we cam here for, tae haver
aboot the steadin'.”
“Ay, they're bonnie kebbocks, and when yir crops fail, ye 're gled
eneuch tae get a pund or twa oot o' the milk.”
And if his Lordship had ever dreamt of taking Peter's evidence, it
would have gone to show that Hillocks's steading was a disgrace to the
property.
If any one could inveigle Lord Kilspindie himself to visit a farm within
sight of the new lease, he had some reason for congratulation, and his
lordship, who was not ignorant of such devices, used to avoid farms at
such times with carefulness. But he was sometimes off his guard, and
when Mrs. Macfadyen met him by accident at the foot of her garden and
invited him to rest, he was caught by the lure of her conversation, and
turned aside with a friend to hear again the story of Mr. Pittendriegh's
goat.
“Well, how have you been, Mrs. Macfadyen, as young as ever, I see, eh?
And how many new stories have you got for me? But, bless my soul, what's
this?” and his lordship might well be astonished at the sight.
Upon the gravel walk outside the door, Elspeth had placed in a row all
her kitchen and parlour chairs, and on each stood a big dish of milk,
while a varied covering for this open-air dairy had been extemporised
out of Jeems' Sabbath umbrella, a tea-tray, a copy of the _Advertiser_,
and a picture of the battle of Waterloo Elspeth had bought from
a packman. It was an amazing spectacle, and one not lightly to be
forgotten.
“A 'm clean ashamed that ye sud hae seen sic an exhibition, ma lord, and
gin a 'd hed time it wud hae been cleared awa.”
“Ye see oor dairy 's that sma' and close that a' daurna keep the mulk in
't a' the het days, an' sae a' aye gie it an airin'; a' wud keep it in
anither place, but there's barely room for the bairns an' oorsels.”
Then Elspeth apologised for speaking about household affairs to his
lordship, and delighted him with all the gossip of the district, told in
her best style, and three new stories, till he promised to build her a
dairy and a bed-room for Elsie, to repair the byres, and renew the lease
at the old terms.
Elspeth said so at least to the factor, and when he inquired concerning
the truth of this foolish concession, Kilspindie laughed, and declared
that if he had sat longer he might have had to rebuild the whole place.
As Hillocks could not expect any help from personal fascinations, he had
to depend on his own sagacity, and after he had laboured for six months
creating an atmosphere, operations began one day at Muirtown market.
The factor and he happened to meet by the merest accident, and laid the
first parallels.
“Man, Hillocks, is that you? I hevna seen ye since last rent time. I
hear ye 're githering the bawbees thegither as usual; ye 'ill be buying
a farm o' yir own soon.”
“Nae fear o' that, Maister Leslie; it's a' we can dae tae get a livin';
we 're juist fechtin' awa'; but it comes harder on me noo that a'm
gettin' on in years.”
“Toots, nonsense, ye're makin' a hundred clear off that farm if ye mak a
penny,” and then, as a sudden thought, “When is your tack out? it canna
hae lang tae run.”
“Weel,” said Hillocks, as if the matter had quite escaped him also, “a'
believe ye 're richt; it dis rin oot this verra Martinmas.”
“Ye'ill need tae be thinkin', Hillocks, what rise ye can offer; his
lordship 'ill be expeckin' fifty pund at the least.”
Hillocks laughed aloud, as if the factor had made a successful joke.
“Ye wull hae yir fun, Maister Leslie, but ye ken hoo it maun gae fine.
The gude wife an' me were calculating juist by chance, this verra
mornin', and we baith settled that we cudna face a new lease comfortable
wi' less than a fifty pund reduction, but we micht scrape on wi' forty.”
“You and the wife 'ill hae tae revise yir calculations then, an' a'll
see ye again when ye 're reasonable.”
Three weeks later there was another accidental meeting, when the factor
and Hillocks discussed the price of fat cattle at length, and then
drifted into the lease question before parting.
“Weel, Hillocks, what aboot that rise? will ye manage the fifty, or must
we let ye have it at forty?”
“Dinna speak like that, for it 's no jokin' maitter tae me; we micht
dae wi' five-and-twenty aff, or even twenty, but a' dinna believe his
lordship wud like to see ain o' his auldest tenants squeezed.”
“It's no likely his lordship 'ill take a penny off when he's
been expecting a rise; so I 'll just need to put the farm in the
_Advertiser_--'the present tenant not offering '; but I 'll wait a month
to let ye think over it.”
When they parted both knew that the rent would be settled, as it was
next Friday, on the old terms.
Opinion in the kirkyard was divided over this part of the bargain, a
minority speaking of it as a drawn battle, but the majority deciding
that Hillocks had wrested at least ten pounds from the factor, which on
the tack of nineteen years would come to £190. So far Hillocks had done
well, but the serious fighting was still to come.
One June day Hillocks sauntered into the factor's office and spent half
an hour in explaining the condition of the turnip “breer” in Drumtochty,
and then reminded the factor that he had not specified the improvements
that would be granted with the new lease.
“Improvements,” stormed the factor. “Ye're the most barefaced fellow on
the estate, Hillocks; with a rent like that ye can do yir own repairs,”
roughly calculating all the time what must be allowed.
Hillocks opened his pocket-book, which contained in its various
divisions a parcel of notes, a sample of oats, a whip lash, a bolus for
a horse, and a packet of garden seeds, and finally extricated a scrap of
paper.
“Me and the wife juist made a bit note o' the necessaries that we maun
hae, and we 're sure ye 're no the gentleman tae refuse them.
“New windows tae the hoose, an' a bit place for dishes, and maybe a
twenty pund note for plastering and painting; that's naething.
“Next, a new stable an' twa new byres, as weel as covering the reed.”
“Ye may as well say a new steadin' at once and save time. Man, what do
you mean by coming and havering here with your papers?”
“Weel, if ye dinna believe me, ask Peter Robertson, for the condeetion
o' the oot-houses is clean reediklus.”
So it was agreed that the factor should drive out to see for himself,
and the kirkyard felt that Hillocks was distinctly holding his own
although no one expected him to get the reed covered.
Hillocks received the great man with obsequious courtesy, and the gude
wife gave him of her best, and then they proceeded to business. The
factor laughed to scorn the idea that Lord Kilspindie should do
anything for the house, but took the bitterness out of the refusal by a
well-timed compliment to Mrs. Stirton's skill, and declaring she could
set up the house with the profits of one summer's butter. Hillocks knew
better than try to impress the factor himself by holes in the roof, and
they argued greater matters, with the result that the stable was allowed
and the byres refused, which was exactly what Hillocks anticipated. The
reed roof was excluded as preposterous in cost, but one or two lighter
repairs were given as a consolation.
Hillocks considered that on the whole he was doing well, and he took the
factor round the farm in fair heart, although his face was that of a man
robbed and spoiled.
Hillocks was told he need not think of wire-fencing, but if he chose to
put up new palings he might have the fir from the Kilspindie woods, and
if he did some draining, the estate would pay the cost of tiles. When
Hillocks brought the factor back to the house for a cup of tea before
parting, he explained to his wife that he was afraid they would have to
leave in November--the hardness of the factor left no alternative.
Then they fought the battle of the cattle reed up and down, in and out,
for an hour, till the factor, who knew that Hillocks was a careful and
honest tenant, laid down his ultimatum.
“There's not been a tenant in my time so well treated, but if ye see the
draining is well done, I'll let you have the reed.”
“A' suppose,” said Hillocks, “a 'll need tae fall in.” And he reported
his achievement to the kirkyard next Sabbath in the tone of one who
could now look forward to nothing but a life of grinding poverty.