. . . . . .
Now I must tell you that Kilbuie was very much respected and beloved by the neighbouring farmers. For Kilbuie was a farmer, and not an upstart. He had been among them all his life. His father, too, had farmed Kilbuie before him. Had M‘Crae been a shopkeeper or sailor turned farmer, they would have left him severely alone. They were clannish.
Well, one evening there was a secret meeting of these farmer folks in the little village school-house. It was a secret meeting, but they weren’t plotting to blow up the manse with dynamite, or set the old town-hall in a blaze. No, and the result of the secret meeting one day about a week after walked down the long loaning towards Kilbuie, in the shape of a fine sturdy young cart-horse, as like Glancer as possibly could be. He was, as may be guessed, a gift to the unfortunate M‘Crae from his kindly neighbours. To refuse would have been to offend. So what could he do but accept, to thank and bless them? The neighbours’ kindness did not end here. They had heard that Sandie M‘Crae meant to compete for a bursary, and, after taking his Master or Bachelor of Arts degree, study for the ministry. Well, it occurred to them that, one way or another, Kilbuie would be rather short handed for the ensuing harvest, that is, if Sandie was going to get anything like fair play, and be allowed to make preparations for the competition; so they determined to give Kilbuie a love-darg, not only for the harvest, but with the subsequent ploughing.
In case there may be some readers of mine in the far south who do not know what a love-darg means, I must explain. I have said already that the farmers of the North are clannish. Well, it often occurs that when, through misfortune, one of their number falls behind-hand, say in the ploughing, the neighbours all assemble in force with horses and ploughs, and in one day turn over every yard of his stubble or leas; or in the same way they may sow his oats in spring, or reap them for him in harvest-time.
Surely this is genuine and Christlike Christianity!
They did not, however, communicate their intention to the farmer himself, but to Sandie they did. Sandie’s eyes sparkled with joy.
“Hurrah!” he cried, “the bursary is as good as won. How can I thank you, gentlemen?”
“By no thankin’ us at a’,” returned Farmer Mon’ Blairie, the spokesman.
“Man!” he added, “we’re a’ as prood o’ ye, lad, as prood can be. We’d like to hae a minister reared frae among oursels, and we’ll hae you.”
“I hope so.”