It was an ancient custom that Domsie and Drumsheugh should dine with
Doctor Davidson in the Manse after the distribution of prizes at the
school, and his companions both agreed afterwards that the Dominie was
never more cheerful than on those days. There was always a review of
stories when the Doctor and Domsie brought out their favourites, with
Drumsheugh for an impartial and appreciative audience, and every little
addition or improvement was noted in a spirit of appreciative criticism.
During the active operations of dinner, talk was disjointed and
educational, hinging on the prospects of the calf crop in the school,
and the golden glories of the past, ever better than the present, when
the end of each University session showered medals on Drumtochty. When
the Doctor had smacked his first glass of port, having examined it
against the light, and the others had prepared their toddy in a
careful silence, broken only by wise suggestions from the host, it was
understood that genuine conversation might begin.
“Aye, aye,” Domsie would remark, by way of intimating that they,
being now in an open and genial mind, were ready to welcome one of the
Doctor's best stories, and Drumsheugh became insistent, “A'm no wantin'
tae tribble ye, Docter, but ave never got ower that sermon on the
turtle. Docter. Ye micht let's hear it again. A'm no sure gin the
Dominie ever herd it” May Drumsheugh be forgiven!
Whereupon Domsie went on the back trail, and affected to search his
memory for the traces of the turtle, with no satisfaction. May he also
be forgiven!
“Toots, Drumsheugh, you are trying to draw my leg. I know you well, eh?
As for you, Dominie, you've heard the story twenty times.
Well, well, just to please you; but mind you, this is the last time.
“It was the beginning of a sermon that old MacFee, of Glenogil, used to
preach on the Monday after the Sacrament from the text, 'The voice of
the turtle is heard in the land,' and this was the introduction.
“There will be many wonders in the latter day; but this is the greatest
of them all--the voice of the turtle shall be heard in the land. This
marvel falls into two parts, which we shall consider briefly and in
order.
“I. A new posture evidently implied, when an animal that has gone upon
its belly for ages shall arise on its hind legs and walk majestically
through the land, and
“II. A new voice distinctly promised, when a creature that has kept
silence from generation to generation will at last open its mouth and
sing melodiously among the people.”
“It's michty,” summed up Drumsheugh, after the exposition had been fully
relished, “Ye'll no hear the like o' that noo-a-days in a coonty. It's
weel telt also, and that's important, for the best story is no worth
hearin' frae a puir hand The corn needs to be cleaned afore ye tak it
tae market.”
“The story is not without merit,” and the Doctor's modesty was all the
more striking as he was supposed to have brought the turtle into its
present form out of the slenderest materials, “but the Dominie has some
far neater things.” Anything Domsie had was from Aberdeen, and not to be
compared, he explained, with Perthshire work, being very dry and wanting
the fruity flavour of the Midland County; but he could still recall
the divisions of the action sermon given every year before the winter
Sacrament in Bourtrie-Lister: