When Hillocks arrived at the kirkyard on the Sabbath after Caesar's
judgment, he found Jamie Soutar removing the last trace of Burn-brae's
Displenishing Sale from the pillars of the gate.
It was the fragment with “John Baxter, outgoing tenant,” and Jamie was
careful to preserve it entire.
“It 'ill be a relic,” he explained afterwards to the fathers, who were
tasting the occasion in a pregnant silence, “like a Russian gun frae
Alma. We 'ill no see anither fecht like it in oor day.
“Jock wes a wee hasty wi' his 'out-going,' but ye cudna expect a
Kildrummie man tae ken ony better. He's gotten the gift o' the gab maist
awfu', but an unctioneer sudna tak tae propheceein'; it's no cannie.
“But we maunna blame Jock, for there wes a story fleein' aboot that
the factor hed got a new fairmer for Burnbrae; he 'ill be the in-comin'
tenant, a'm judgin'; he 'ill be comin' in as the factor gaes oot.
“Speakin' aboot that, hae ye herd the new factor's name? they were
keepin' it quiet on Friday,” and Jamie looked round with much interest.
“Ye've a tongue, Jamie,” and Drumsheugh laughed aloud, a luxury hardly
known in the Glen, while even Gormack himself made a joyful noise within
like the running down of an eight-day clock.
“It's an ill job weel ended,” resumed Hillocks, recalling the fathers to
sobriety, “an' Burnbrae's gotten his fairm back; but it's bare the day,
withoot a beast tae pit in the byres this winter, or a ploo tae turn the
stubble.
“Nae doot he hed a graund sale, and the fat cattle cowed a'thing for
price, but stockin' ower again 'll be a heavy loss; it's a terrible
peety his lordship wesna hame suner.”
Then they went into matters thoroughly, and Drumsheugh gave judgment.
“Gin he hed back his implements, and Jean's coos, an' some o' the auld
horse, an' maybe a dozen stirk, h 'd come oot richt aifter a'; a' didna
hear the dealers boastin' aboot their bargains laist Friday,” he added
with satisfaction.
There was a long pause in the conversation, during which Drumsheugh
examined a loose slate on the roof of the church from three different
points of view, and Jamie Soutar refreshed his remembrance of a
neighbouring tombstone.
“Div ye mean?” began Whinnie, but broke off at the contempt in Jamie's
eye.
“Sall,” Hillocks exclaimed in a little. “What think ye, Gormack?”
“They 're no veeciously inclined fouk in the Glen,” responded that
worthy man, with studied moderation. “A' wudna say but it micht be dune.
Maist o' what we 're aifter is in the Glen, some hole or ither. It wud
croon a',” and Gormack began to warm.
“Nae fear o' the implements,” said Hillocks, in full scent, “nor the
puckle young beasts, but a 'll no be satisfeed, neeburs, gin the gude
wife disna get back her byre tae the last coo.”
“A 've twa stirks,” interrupted Whinnie, taking in the situation at
last.
“Haud yir tongue till a' coont up the kye,” and Hillocks buckled to
work.
“It's an aucht byre, and Jean keepit ane; that leaves seeven tae
collect; noo a' hae twa masel, an' Netherton bocht the quey; that's
three a' richt.
“Didna ye get the Angus doddie, Drumsheugh? weel, ye 'ill no be hard tae
deal wi'; an' Bogie took anither--he's no here, but he's a cautious man,
Bogie; there's nae fear o' him. That's five.
“Whar's the lave? Ou aye, a' mind Mary Robertson scrapit up eneuch for
the white coo, a fine milker; it wud hardly be richt, maybe, tae ask
her--”
“Ae coo as gude's anither tae Mary,” broke in Drumsheugh. “A 'll see she
disna lose.”
“Weel, that's a' richt,” Hillocks went on; “and we 've juist tae find
anither, and that 's the hale hypothic.”
“It 's no ill tae find,” said Jamie, “but it 'ill beat ye tae get her.”
“Ye're no meanin'--man,--ye hev it; the body did buy ane, an' he 'ill
be wantin' twa or three notes on the bargain; Milton's a fair scannal
in the Glen,” and Hillocks's countenance, a near enough man in season
himself, was full of scorn.
“A'm astonished at ye,” and Jamie eyed Hillocks with severity; “div ye
no ken that Milton is the only man in the Glen that hes ony licht ava?
he's sae releegious that a' never herd o' him daein' a dirty trick,
but his conscience telt him. It 'ill cost five notes tae mak his duty
plain.”
“If Milton disna gie back the beast at the roup price, in the
circumstances-”
“Aye, aye, Drumsheugh,” said Hillocks encouragingly.
“Weel, he needna show his face in the Kil-drummie train, that's a'; ye
have yir aucht complete noo, Hillocks, an' a 'll cast ma mind ower the
implements in the sermon.”
“A 'll drive doon the twa stirks the mom's morn,” for Whinnie was
anxious to show his zeal.
“Ye 'll dae naethin' o' the kind,” responded Jamie. “Burnbrae's
plenishing gaed awa in a day, and it 'ill gae back in a day. Drumsheugh,
ye begun the wark, and ye 'ill hae tae feenish it.”
“A 'll dae the Glen by Wednesday nicht, arf a'thing 'ill need tae be
hame by Thursday, or Burnbrae'ill be in at Muirtown on Friday githerin'
stock. Ye 'ill keep a quiet tongue, neeburs.”
“Lippen (trust) tae that, Drumsheugh,” Jamie answered; “it's easier than
speakin' in Drumtochty.”
Drumsheugh was wrapped in thought till the Doctor came to the
application, when his face lightened, and he took snuff with leisurely
satisfaction.
“There wes a set o' harrows,” he admitted to Jamie afterwards, “near
beat me; they're doon Dunleith wy, but a'll hae a haud o'them.”
For three days the Glen was full of mystery, and the latest news of the
campaign could be had at the smiddy.
Saunders, Drumsheugh's foreman, came with some machine teeth on Monday
evening, and brought the first intelligence.
“The maister's in frae the wast end, and he's no hed a single refusal;
yon Dunleith fairmer that cam on the dun sheltie (pony) wes that pleased
at Brunbrae getting his fairm again, he offered back the harrows himsel,
and is tae send up a single ploo an' a pair o' fanners 'at gied doon yon
wy.
“Drumsheugh's tae be oot at five the morn, an' he's expeckin' tae sweep
the Glen,” and Saunders struck a match with emphasis.
“It beats a',” said the smith, amazed at Saunders's continued speech;
“the Glen's fair roosed.”
On Wednesday evening Drumsheugh was his own messenger, but would only
speak in parables.
“Gin this weather keeps on, they 'ill be cuttin' roads for the machines
by the end o' the week.... A 'll need tae be aff, it's gettin' late, and
a've hed twa days o't.... There 's a fell puckle fairms in the pairish,
aince ye gae roond them....
“Na, na, there's waur fouk in the coonty than oor neeburs,” and now
every one listened with both his ears; “the fac is, there's no ae
disobleeging, ill-condeetioned wratch in Drumtochty, or ane that wudna
dae his pairt by a gude man.” Whereupon the smith struck a mighty blow,
and the sparks flew to the roof in celebration of a great achievement.
“It's a broon and white caufie ye hev, smith,” were Drumsheugh's last
words. “Ye micht bring it up the mornin's aifternoon aboot fower, and
slip it intae the park afore the hoose.”
“That's the stiffest job Drumsheugh ever pit his hand tae, an' he's
dune it weel,” and then the smith meditated, “hoo did he ever get roond
Milton?”
Hillocks came in late and threw some light on that problem.
“A' met Drumsheugh comin' doon frae Milton, and a' lookit at him.
“The 'ill be nane o' Jean's byre missin' the morn, Hillocks.”
“That's a' he said, but his face wes as red as the harvest mune, and
you wud hae thocht tae see his walk that he wes the Earl o' Kilspindie.”
Burnbrae was afterwards amazed at the duplicity of Drumtochty, which
compassed him with lies and befooled him on every hand, in his local
efforts to restock his farm. Hillocks declined to treat for
restoration till he knew how prices stood on Friday, and Netherton,
his fellow-elder, was doubtful whether he could let him have two carts,
while Drumsheugh refused politely but firmly to cancel his purchase in
cows. Drumtochty was triumphant over Burnbrae's victory, and full of
sympathy with him in his position, but there were limits to kindness,
and the Glen meant to stick by their bargains.
“It's no what a' wud hae expeckit o' the neeburs, an' least o' a' frae
Drumsheugh,” Jean complained, as she sat on Thursday afternoon in the
garden. Burnbrae had just returned from a very disappointing visit to
Donald Menzies, who expounded a recent conflict with the devil in minute
detail, but would not come within a mile of business.
“We maunna judge the fouk hardly,” said Burnbrae; “a bargain 's a
bargain; they gave top prices, an' nae doot they wantit what they bocht.
They did their pairt at the roup, an' it wud be unreasonable tae ask
mair,” but Burnbrae was inwardly perplexed.
An hour afterwards James Soutar explained to Jean that he happened to be
passing, and thought he would give them “a cry,” and ended by dragging
Burnbrae off to the most distant field on the farm to decide when a
patch of oats he had bought in the roup would be ready for the scythe.
He then settled on a dyke, and for two hours fought the great war
over again from beginning to end, with a keen dramatic instinct and an
amazing flow of caustic commentary.
“A 'll no deny,” when Burnbrae compelled him to return for tea, “that
a'm disappointed in the fouk sin laist Friday. They micht hae let their
bargains gae an' sent ye up the rough o' the stockin'.
“Noo gin a' hed been the like o' Drumsheugh,” and Jamie again came to
a halt, “a' wud hae scorned tae keep onything ye needed, but they 're
grippy, there's nae doot o' that, in Drumtochty; a've thocht mony a
time... is yon a cairt comin' up the road?
“If it's no a load o' implements and cairt-harness! It's terribly like
Saunders frae Drumsheugh, but there's nae use cryin', for he 'ill no lat
on he hears.
“Sall,” continued Jamie, as they struck the track, “there's been mair
than ae cairt up here; an' a' didna see ye hed cattle in the gairden
field as we passed.”
“Naither a' hev; there's no aleevin' beast on the place forbye puir
Brownie. A' canna mak it oot!” and Burnbrae quickened his steps.
Donald Menzies's son passed with a bridle, as if he had left a horse
“behind him, and Gormack met them on horseback, as if he had come with
a cart, but, beyond the weather, they had nothing to say. Whinnie was
wrestling with two stirks to get them into a field--with the result
that one went up the road and another down, after the manner of their
kind--and had no leisure for conversation. A large roller had stuck
in the last gate, and young Netherton was not in a mood to answer
questions.
“Ask Drumsheugh,” was all that could be got out of him as he backed his
horse first one way and then the other.
“Ma opeenion,” said Jamie solemnly, “is that Drumtochty's gaen geit
(crazy). Did ye ever see the like o' that?”
The farmhouse and other buildings made a square, and Burnbrae stood
beyond speech or motion at the sight which met his eyes. The “ports” of
the cart-shed, that had been a yawning void when he left, were filled
once more with two carts in each--his own well-mended carts--the one
behind, with the trams on the ground and the one before, suspended from
the roof by the chain saddle; and if Piggie Walker was not unharnessing
a pony from the old dogcart in the turnip-shed. 'The greys that made
the second pair--but they were really white--and which he had grudged
selling far more than the young horses, came up from the water and went
sedately into the stable. Through the door he could see that Jean's byre
was nearly full, and outside two calves had settled down to supper upon
a guano bag with much relish. Saunders, Baxter and Tammas Mitchell were
shouldering the fanners into the corn room, while the servant lassies,
quite off their heads with excitement, were carrying in the dairy dishes
that some cart had left. The courtyard was strewn with implements, and
in the centre stood Drumsheugh full of power and forcible speech, a
sight never to be forgotten.
“Hurry up wi' the fanners, lads, and yoke on the ploos, pit the harrows
in the cairt-shed, an' hang thae saidles in the stable; ye micht gie the
horses a feed, and see the coos hae a bite o' grass.
“Cairry that harness into the hoose, Piggie, the wife keeps it hersel;
man, a' forgot tae gie ye a word; hoo did ye hear? onywy, it wes
neeburly tae gie back the auld dogcairt.
“Jamie Soutar hes wiled the gude man oot o' the road, but he 'ill sune
be back, an' we maun hae the place snod afore he comes.”
Then he saw Burnbrae and Jamie, and raged furiously.
“It's maist aggravatin' that some fouk 'ill come when they 're no
wantit, an' stan' glowerin' till ye wud think they hed never seen a
fairm toon redd (cleaned) up in their life.
“The fac is,” and Drumsheugh relapsed into private life, “the neeburs
thocht ye micht be the better of some o' yir plenishin' back tae begin
wi', an' the maist o' what's in the Glen 'ill be here afore nicht.
“Dinna say a word aboot it; it wud hae been a disgrace tae see ye buyin'
in the Muirtown market, an' yir goods on oor fairms. We're hard, but
we 're no sae mean as that. Whup that reapin' machine oot o' the road,
Tammas,” shouted Drumsheugh, creating a skilful diversion for Burnbrae's
benefit.
Two cows came round the corner, and made for their byre with the air
of persons glad to find themselves in familiar surroundings after
discomposing adventures in foreign parts. Hawkie stepped aside at the
door to allow Queenie to enter first, for there is a strict order of
precedence among cows, and however it might have been disregarded in
strange byres, good manners must be observed at home.
Three minutes later Hillocks sauntered in with explanations.
“They kent their ain road as sune as we got sicht o' the hooses; it 's a
fine hairst day, Drumsheugh; is the byre fillin'?”
“It's full, man; the laist coo 's in, and Burnbrae 's aff tae tell the
gude wife; naebody hes failed, Hillocks, an' a'm expectin' the ministers
up every minute.”
Jean was utterly dazed, and Burnbrae knew not what to do with her.
Between the going and the coming her strength had given, and she could
only sit motionless except when she wiped the tears from her cheeks.
“If Doctor Davidson isna comin' up the near road wi' Maister Cunningham.
Drumsheugh's telt them, a'll wager, and they're comin' tae wush us weel.
“It's a terrible peety, Jean, ye 're no able tae see them,” continued
Burnbrae, with great cunning; “they wud nearly need tae get their tea
comin' sae far, an' Drumsheugh tae, for he's hed an aifternune.
“But it canna be helpit noo, an' of coorse the'ill be naethin' for them;
a 'll juist say ye 're no yersel the day, an' tell the lassies tae bring
in a jug o' milk,” and Burnbrae made for the door.
“Wud ye daur tae send onybody awa frae oor hoose this day withoot
brakin' bread, tae say naethin'o' the ministers?” and Jean was already
hunting for her best dress. “Gae doon this meenut an' show them ower the
place, an', John, man, keep them awa for an 'oor.”
When the party returned from their round all things were ready, and Jean
received the company in her black silk and a cap that called forth the
warm congratulations of the doctor.
It was a meal to be remembered, and remained a date for calculation
while the old people lived. Twenty times at least did Jean apologise
for its imperfection--the scones which wanted more firing and the butter
that was soft through heat--and as many times did the doctor declare
with solemnity that he never expected to taste the like again till he
returned to Burnbrae. Seven times exactly did Jean go out to supplement
the table with forgotten dainties, and once she was so long away that
Drumsheugh accused her of visiting the byre.
“No likely wi' this goon on. It's plain ye ken little o' women fouk,
Drumsheugh.”
“Ye juist keekit in, a'm thinking tae see that the hale aucht were in
their sta's, eh, gude wife?” and when Jean's face pled guilty, Burnbrae
laughed joyfully, and declared that “the elder wes comin' on,” and that
“they micht see a mistress in Drumsheugh yet.”
They all did their part, but it was agreed that the doctor excelled
beyond competition. He told his best stories in a way that amazed even
his faithful elder, while Drumsheugh and Burnbrae watched for the coming
point to honour it with vociferous applause, and again would deploy in
front to draw forth another favourite. No one could have felt happy if
Mr. Cunningham had taken to anecdotage, but his honest effort to follow
the lead and be in at the death with each story was delightful. Once
also he threw in a quotation from the Georgies, which the doctor
declared the cleverest thing he had ever heard, and the abashed man
became the object of silent admiration for sixty seconds. One of the
lassies, specially dressed for the occasion, was continually bringing
in hot water and reserve tea-pots, till the doctor accused Drumsheugh of
seven cups, and threatened him with the session for immoderate drinking;
and Drumsheugh hinted that the doctor was only one short himself. Simple
fooling of country folk, that would sound very poor beside the wit of
the city, but who shall estimate the love in Burnbrae's homely room that
evening?
When at last the doctor rose to go, in spite of Jean's last remonstrance
that he had eaten nothing, Burnbrae said he would like the ministers to
take the reading that night, and then they all went into the kitchen,
which had been made ready. A long table stood in the centre, and at one
end lay the old family Bible; round the table gathered Burnbrae's sons
and the serving lads and women. Doctor Davidson motioned to the Free
Church minister to take his place at the head.
“This is your family, and your elder's house.” But Cunningham spoke out
instantly with a clear voice:
“Doctor Davidson, there is neither Established nor Free Church here this
night; we are all one in faith and love, and you were ordained before I
was born.”
“I thank you, sir, for this honour,” said the doctor, and Drumsheugh
said that he had never seen him look so pleased.
He was already selecting the psalm, when Burnbrae asked leave to say a
word, and there was such a stillness that the ticking of the clock in
the lobby was heard over the kitchen.
“It isna needfu' for me tae tell ye, freends, that my mind is wi' the
Free Kirk in her contention, and a' houp for grace tae obey ma licht as
lang as a' live.
“Nae man's conscience, hooever, is a law tae his neebur, but every man
maun follow the guidance o' the Speerit; an' gin a' hev said a hasty or
bitter word against the Auld Kirk, or called her ony unworthy name thae
past years, a' want tae say that nane regrets it mair than a' dae masel,
and it becomes me, this nicht, tae ask yir pardon.”
“You never did anything of the kind, Burnbrae,” said the doctor huskily.
“I wish to God we were all as good men,” and the Free Kirk elder and the
Moderate minister clasped hands across the open Bible. Then the
doctor cleared his throat with great majesty, and gave out the
Hundred-and-thirty-third Psalm:
“Behold how good a thing it is,
And how becoming well,
Together, such as brethren are
In unity to dwell.”
And the sweet sound of Eastgate floated out on the peaceful air of the
Glen, where the harvest moon was shining upon fields of gold.