"That may be," replied Strang, "only ca' canny. Look before ye loup. Mind the proverb, 'Haste maks waste.'"
"Dod that's true," replied Manson. "But eh man! I wad gie a gude roond sum to see the gabbie body obleeged to tak back and swallow a' the nonsense he's been talkin'."
"Weel!" said Gilbert, "ye'll soon see it."
Two days after this conversation on the road, winter weather had come, in all its severity. It was seven o'clock at night. Outside the farm-house of Pitlour, the cold round moon looked down upon snow-clad roofs and stacks, icicles hanging from the eaves, the pump in the barnyard sheathed in straw, and the ploughs hard bound in the meadow by the frost. But inside in the bothy, which was attached to the house, all was bright and warm. A fire made of wood and coals blazed in the chimney; an old-fashioned oil lamp called a cruisie, hung from the mantelpiece; and the combined light of these two fell upon three well-fed, well-conditioned, rustic faces. On one side of the chimney was Gilbert Strang, deeply interested in the weekly newspaper; on the other side was his fellow-ploughman, Sandy Downie, laboriously scraping out of his fiddle the tune of "Auld Lang Syne"; and in front of the blaze was Jim Lochty, the cattle boy, with a copy of Burns in his hand, crooning over the words of a familiar song. In the background, two bedsteads made of rough wood, but with white pillows and sheets, looked snug and comfortable. The occupants were interrupted by a knock at the door, and who should walk in but the Rev. Jeremiah MacGuffog. He apologised for what might be called "a surprise visit." But he said he held the opinion that the minister was the friend of everyone in the parish, and that he should be able to drop in upon his parishioners unceremoniously at any time, and take them as he found them. Strang said that they were glad to see him, and asked him to take a seat.
Sitting down and scanning the place carefully, the minister said: "You heard from my sermon on Sabbath that I am deeply interested in the bothy question; and I want to be thoroughly acquainted with it."
Strang smiled and said to himself: "Jeddart Justice. He condemned and executed us on Sunday, and now he is going to try us."
"I must confess," said the minister, "that I am surprised to see your place look so tidy and comfortable. You heard, I suppose, that I was coming."
"No," said Strang. "The good wife, Mrs Wedderspoon, looks upon this as part of her own house, and is just as particular about it as she is about the rooms where her two sons sleep. No place could be cleaner or more comfortable."
"But your food?" asked the minister. "Is it not rather coarse?"
"Well, sir!" replied Strang, "it would be coarse to the like of you. But for hard working, healthy, country folk, out in the open air, could anything be better than well-boiled porridge and sweet milk for breakfast and supper, and kail and meat and potatoes for dinner? And looking at us, you would say that our food agrees with us."