“The smith said that he wes thinkin' o' Annie's tribble, but ony wy a' ca' it rael bairnly. It's no like Drumtochty; ye're setting an example, Milton, wi' yir composure. But a' mind ye took the doctor's meesure as sune as ye cam intae the pairish.”
It is the penalty of a cynic that he must have some relief for his secret grief, and Milton began to weary of life in Jamie's hands during those days.
Drumtochty was not observant in the matter of health, but they had grown sensitive about Dr. MacLure, and remarked in the kirkyard all summer that he was failing.
“He wes aye spare,” said Hillocks, “an' he's been sair twisted for the laist twenty year, but a' never mind him booed till the year. An' he's gaein' intae sma' buke (bulk), an' a' dinna like that, neeburs.
“The Glen wudna dae weel withoot Weelum MacLure, an' he's no as young as he wes. Man, Drumsheugh, ye micht wile him aff tae the saut water atween the neeps and the hairst. He's been workin' forty year for a holiday, an' it's aboot due.”
Drumsheugh was full of tact, and met MacLure quite by accident on the road.
“Saunders'll no need me till the shearing begins,” he explained to the doctor, “an' a'm gaein' tae Brochty for a turn o' the hot baths; they're fine for the rheumatics.
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“Wull ye no come wi' me for auld lang syne? it's lonesome for a solitary man, an' it wud dae ye gude.”