“For doonricht leein',” said Jamie meditatively, “a' never kent the marra (equal) o' thae London papers; they made oot that Sandie wes a hero, and we cleaned the Muirtown book-stall lest Friday a week. A' never saw the Kildrummie train in sic speerits; it's awfu' hoo country fouk are deceived.”
“Piggie Walker cam up on Monday” (Hillocks seemed to be addressing some person above Burnbrae's head), “and he wes tellin' me they hed a by-ordinar' sermon frae the student. 'A wished Burnbrae hed been there,' Piggie said; 'he wes boond tae be lifted. He 'ill sune hae a kirk, yon lad, an' a gude ane.' Piggie's a body, but he's coonted the best jidge o' sermons in Kildrummie.”
Drumsheugh alone did not join in those kindly efforts, but struck out a manner of his own, chuckling twice without relevancy, and once growing so red that Hillocks ran over his family history to estimate the risk of a “seizure.”
“Is that you, Burnbrae? Come in, man; come in. It's a pleasure to see a Drumtochty face again after those foreign fellows,” and Lord Kilspindie gripped his tenant's hand in the factor's office. “Sit down and give me all your news.
“Th 'ill be no speaking to Mrs. Baxter now after this exploit of the Sergeant's! When I read it on my way home I was as proud as if he had been my own son. It was a gallant deed, and well deserves the Cross. He 'ill be getting his commission some day. Lieutenant Baxter! That 'ill stir the Glen, eh?
“But what is this I hear of your leaving Burnbrae? I don't like losing old tenants, and I thought you would be the last to flit.”
“Did the factor not tell you, my Lord----”
“I 've only seen him for five minutes, and he said it had nothing to do with rent; it was some religious notion or other. Is that so?”
“The fairm is worth thirty pund mair rent, an' a' wud hae paid saxty rather than leave my auld hame; but the factor made it a condeetion tae gie up ma kirk.”
“Well, Burnbrae, I never thought you would have left me for a matter of kirks. Could you not have stretched a point for auld lang syne?” and Kilspindie looked hard at the old man.
“Ma Lord, there's naething a' wudna hae dune to stay in Burnbrae but this ae thing. Ye hae been a gude landlord tae me as the auld Earl wes tae ma father, an' it 'ill never be the same tae me again on anither estate; but ye maunna ask me tae gang back on ma conscience.”