JAMIE
I.—A NIPPY TONGUE
Each community has its own etiquette, and in an advanced state of civilisation such beautiful words as “Mister” and “Missus” are on every one's tongue, some lonely Northerner perhaps saying “Mistress,” to the amusement of footmen and other persons of refinement. While Drumtochty was in its natural state, and the influence of Southern culture had scarcely begun to play on its simplicity, we had other forms of speech. It was good manners to call a farmer by his place, and had any one addressed Hillocks as Mr. Stirton, that worthy man would have been much startled. Except on envelopes, full-length names were reserved for the heading of roups and the death column in newspapers, and so had acquired a flavour of ceremonious solemnity. Ploughmen were distinguished by their Christian names in some easy vernacular form, and the sudden introduction of the surname could only be justified by a furrow that suggested the segment of a circle or a return from Kildrummie fair minus a cart and two horses. His lordship might notice Drumsheugh's foreman as he passed with a “Busy as usual, Baxter,” and not be suspected of offence, but other men had said “Fine fillin' day, Saunders,” to which Saunders would have most likely deigned no answer save a motion of the right shoulder. Dignitaries had their titles by prescriptive right, the parish minister being “Doctor” and the schoolmaster “Dominie,” but only one man in the Glen had the distinction of a diminutive, and it was a standing evidence of his place in our hearts.
It was mentioned with relish that a Muirtown merchant raiding for honey, having inquired of Whinnie Knowe where Mr. James Soutar lived, had been gravely informed that no person of that name lived in the parish, and would have departed to search for him in Kildrummie had he not chanced on Drumsheugh.
“Div ye mean Jamie?” and when Hillocks met him two miles further on he was still feasting on the incident.
“He said 'Mister James Soutar' as sure as ye're lookin' me in the face, Hillocks,” and both tasted the humour of the situation, which owed nothing to artifice, but sprang from the irony of circumstances.
“Jamie,” ejaculated Drumsheugh, and a flood of recollections—scenes, stories, incidents—swept across his face. Had he been a Kil-drummie man, he would have laughed at the things he heard and saw.
“Sal,” wound up Hillocks, who had been tasting the same passed in silence, “he's an awfu' body, Jamie; ye'ill no get the marra (equal) of him in six pairishes.”
Drumtochty did not ground its admiration of Jamie on his personal appearance, which lent itself to criticism and suggested a fine carelessness on the part of nature. His head was too large for his body, and rested on his chest. One shoulder had a twist forward which invested Jamie with an air of aggression. His legs were constructed on the principle that one knee said to the other, If you let me pass this time, I 'll let you pass next time.
“Gin ye were juist tae luke at Jamie, ye micht ca' him a shachlin' (shambling) cratur,” Drumsheugh once remarked, leaving it to be inferred that the understanding mind could alone appreciate him, and that in this matter Drumtochty walked by faith and not by sight. His rate of progression was over four miles an hour, but this method was sideways, and was so wonderful, not to say impressive, that even a phlegmatic character like Drumsheugh's Saunders had been known to follow Jamie's back view till it disappeared, and then to say “michty,” with deliberation. Young animals that developed any marked individuality in gait were named after Jamie without offence, and were understood to have given pledges of intelligence, since it was believed that nature worked on the principle of compensation.