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Updated: June 3, 2025
His fees were pretty much what the folk chose to give him, and he collected them once a year at Kildrummie fair. "Weel, doctor, what am a' awin' ye for the wife and bairn? Ye 'ill need three notes for that nicht ye stayed in the hoose an' a' the veesits." "Havers," MacLure would answer, "prices are low, a'm hearing; gie's thirty shillings."
Yes, she was, and dared him to come on, for Jessie has forgotten the minister and all the Session. "The elders wud like tae hear 'What is the Lord's Supper?" "That's it; and, Jessie, ma woman, gie's the 'worthy receiving." Jessie achieves another triumph, and is now ready for anything.
"Did ye say Nestie?" inquired Speug, with an almost kindly accent, moving a little forward as for purposes of identification. "My pater calls me that, and ... others did, but perhaps you would like to say Molyneux. What is your name?" "We 'ill call ye 'Nestie'; it's no an ill word, an' it runs on the tongue. Ma name is Peter McGuffie, or Speug, an' gin onybody meddle wi' ye gie's a cry."
One man was a fairish piper, and sometimes the skirl of some old Hieland melody would sound weird enough, as I made my way to the cabin through a grey mist. I was called upon oftener than anyone else, I think. "Gie's a bit sang, Harry," they'd say. Maybe ye'll not be believing me, but I was timid at the first of it, and slow to do as they asked.
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