“Delighted, I'm sure, to tell you anything you wish,” said the factor, considerably sobered.
“Well a very unpleasant rumour is spreading through the parish that you have refused to renew a farmer's lease unless he promised to leave the Free Church?”
“An old fellow, standing very straight, with white hair, called--let me see, Baxter; yes, that's it, Baxter; is that the man?”
“Yes, that is the name,” said the doctor, with growing severity; “John Baxter of Bumbrae, the best man in the parish of Drumtochty; and I want an answer to my question.”
“You will get it,” and Tomkyns fixed his eye-glass with an aggressive air. “I certainly told Baxter that if he wanted to stay on the estate he must give up his dissenting nonsense and go to the kirk.”
“May I ask your reason for this extraordinary condition?” and Drumsheugh could see that the Doctor was getting dangerous.
“Got the wrinkle from my cousin's, Lord De Tomkyns's, land agent. He's cleared all the Methodists off their estate.
“'The fewer the dissenters the better,' he said to me, 'when you come to an election, d' you know.'”
“Are you mad, and worse than mad? Who gave you authority to interfere with any man's religion? You know neither the thing you are doing, nor the men with whom you have to do. Our farmers, thank God, are not ignorant serfs who know nothing and cannot call their souls their own, but men who have learned to think for themselves, and fear no one save Almighty God.”
The factor could hardly find his voice for amazement.
“But, I say, aren't you the Established Kirk minister and a Tory? This seems to me rather strange talk, don't you know.”
“Perhaps it does,” replied the doctor, “but there is nothing a man feels deeper than the disgrace of his own side.”
“Well,” said Tomkyns, stung by the word disgrace, “there are lots of things I could have done for you, but if this is your line it may not be quite so pleasant for yourself in Drumtochty, let me tell you.”
The doctor was never a diplomatic advocate, and now he allowed himself full liberty.
“You make Drumtochty pleasant or unpleasant for me!” with a withering glance at the factor. “There is one man in this parish neither you nor your master nor the Queen herself, God bless her, can touch, and that is the minister of the Established Church.