“What think ye o' that, Weelum? It bore a wee hard on Hillocks, but it wes michty speakin' an' gared (made) the blood rin. Jamie's a hard wratch ootside, but he's gude stuff inside.”
“Did ye ever notice, Drum, that Jamie hes hed a black band on his Sabbath hat as far back as a' can mind? A' his freends are deid mair than thirty year syne. Wha 's it for, think ye? A 'm thinkin' naebody 'ill get tae the boddom o' Jamie till he fins oot the meanin' o'that band.”
“Ye may be richt, Weelum, an' a've wunnered tae, but Jamie 'ill never tell; he hes his ain secret, an' he 'ill keep it.” The two men followed their neighbours, and Drumsheugh said to himself, “Puir Jamie; the auld story.”
The kirkyard kept Jamie in exercise, but it was on one of our rare public occasions that he made history, and two of his exploits are still subject of grateful recollection, and a bond between Drumtochty men in foreign parts. One was the vote of thanks to the temperance lecturer who had come, with the best intentions, to reform the Glen, and who, with the confidence of a youthful Southern and a variable hold of the letter aitch, used great freedom of speech. He instructed us all, from Doctor Davidson in the chair down to the smith, whom he described as “an intelligent hartisan,” and concluded with a pointed appeal to Domsie to mend his ways and start a Band of Hope in the school.
“Solomon says, 'Train up a child in the way that he should go, and when he is old he will never depart from it;' and I 'll apply these words to the Glen of Drumtochty, 'Train hup a child to 'ate the bottle, and when he is old he 'ill never depart from it;'” and the lecturer sat down in a silence that might be heard.
There was something approaching a rustle when Jamie rose to propose the vote of thanks—several charging themselves with snuff in haste, that a word might not be lost—and no one was disappointed.
“Doctor Davidson an' neeburs,” said Jamie, “it wudna be richt that this young gentleman sud come sae far o' his ain accord and give us sic a faithfu' address withoot oor thanks, although he 'ill excuse us puir country fouk for no bein' able to speak his beautiful English.
“We a' admired his ingenious application o' Proverbs, an' he may be sure that nane o' us 'ill forget that new Proverb as lang as we live; a' micht say that it 'ill be a household word in the Glen.
“Gin it's no presumption tae say it, it's verra interestin' tae see hoo much experience the lecturer hes for his years in the up bringing o' bairns, and a' mak nae doot the learned bodies in the Glen, as well as the parents, 'ill lay his words tae heart.
“There wes a man in a glen north-bye,” modestly offering an anecdote for the lecturer's future use, “'at wes sober (ill), an' the doctor, wha wes a verra ignorant man, said he wud need a small tastin' tae keep up his strength. But the man wes of the lecturer's persuasion, and wud drink nothing but water. The weather wes terrible cold, and one day, juist five minutes aifter he hed his mornin' gless of water, the man died. When they opened him it wes found that he hed frozen up inch by inch, and the laist gless had juist turned tae ice in his throat. It wes sic a noble instance o' conscientious adherence tae principle that a' thocht a' wud mention it for the lecturer's encouragement.” And when Jamie sat down the audience were looking before them with an immovable countenance, and the doctor held out his silver snuff box to Jamie afterwards with marked consideration.