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Updated: May 4, 2025
"A' can hardly believe ma ears, Jess, an' the Sabbath tae; their verra jidgment hes gane frae the fouk o' Drumtochty. "They've heard about Saunders, a'm thinkin', wumman, and they're pleased we brocht him roond; he's fairly on the mend, ye ken, noo. "A' never expeckit the like o' this, though, and it wes juist a wee thingie mair than a' cud hae stude.
"But no, there's some fouk 'ill tak nae warnin'; there he was, sittin' in front o' Mactavish with his thumbs in his airm holes, and a watch gaird spread richt across him, and ae leg cocked over the ither, the verra eemage of a bantam cock fleein' in the face o' judgment."
"What wud ye sae, Jamie," Hillocks suggested, "but it micht be some o' thae Muirtown doctors? they were awfu' chief wi' MacLure." "It's nae Muirtown doctors," cried Jamie, in great exultation, "nor ony ither doctors. A' ken thae horses, and wha's ahind them. Quick, man, Hillocks, stop the fouk, and tell Drumsheugh tae come oot, for Lord Kilspindie hes come up frae Muirtown Castle."
"That's mair nor I richtly can say," answered Meg Partan, "but auld farand fouk threepit it was somewhaur 'ithin the swing o' Sawtan's tail." The reply on the factor's lips as he left the house, tended to justify the rude sarcasm. There came a breath of something in the east. It was neither wind nor warmth. It was light before it is light to the eyes of men.
MacLure had been slowly taking in the situation, and at last he unburdened himself one night to Jamie. "What ails the fouk, think ye? for they're aye lecturin' me noo tae tak care o' the weet and tae wrap masel up, an' there's no a week but they're sendin' bit presents tae the house, till a'm fair ashamed." "Oo, a'll explain that in a meenut," answered Jamie, "for a' ken the Glen weel.
"It's nae ceremony the day, ye may lippen tae it; it's the hert brocht the fouk, an' ye can see it in their faces; ilka man hes his ain reason, an' he's thinkin' on't though he's speakin' o' naethin' but the storm; he's mindin' the day Weelum pued him out frae the jaws o' death, or the nicht he savit the gude wife in her oor o' tribble.
"Preachin' wes kittle wark in Pitscoorie, for the fouk were awfu' creetics, though they didna maybe think sae muckle o' themselves as Drumtochty. A' aye githered their jidgment through the week, an' gin he hed made a slip meddling wi' warks or sic-like in his sermon, it wes pit richt next Sabbath, and sovereignty whuppit in at the feenish.
MacLure had been slowly taking in the situation, and at last he unburdened himself one night to Jamie. "What ails the fouk, think ye? for they're aye lecturin' me noo tae tak care o' the weet and tae wrap masel up, an' there's no a week but they're sendin' bit presents tae the hoose, till a'm fair ashamed." "Oo, a'll explain that in a meenut," answered Jamie, "for a' ken the Glen weel.
"It's ower late tae mend, but ye 'ill maybe juist say to the fouk that I wes sorry, an' a'm houpin' that the Almichty 'ill hae mercy on me. "Cud ye ... pit up a bit prayer, Paitrick?" "A' haena the words," said Drumsheugh in great distress; "wud ye like's tae send for the minister?" So Drumsheugh knelt and prayed with many pauses.
The parish had, in fact, lost confidence in Drums after his wayward experiment with a potato-digging machine, which turned out a lamentable failure, and his premature departure confirmed our vague impression of his character. "He's awa noo," Drumsheugh summed up, after opinion had time to form; "an' there were waur fouk than Drums, but there's nae doot he was a wee flichty."
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