“A' wudna wunner gin the Milton roup did come aff sune... there's twa acre mair neeps than a' expeckit.”
Then Hillocks would casually remark, as one forced into a distasteful conversation, “The gude wife keeps ae coo, a' hear; she 'ill be taking a pendicle at Kildrummie, a'm judg-in',” but any thorough treatment was hindered by circumstances.
The kirkyard was only once carried beyond itself by Jock's bills, and that was when he announced Burnbrae's sale.
“Keep's a', fouk, this is no lichtsome,” was all Whinnie could say as he joined the group, and the boxes were passed round without speech.
“Weel, weel,” Hillocks said at last, in the tone consecrated to funerals, “he 'ill be sair missed.”
It was felt to be an appropriate note, and the mouths of the fathers were opened.
“A graund fairmer,” continued Hillocks, encouraged by the sympathetic atmosphere; “he kent the verra day tae sow, an' ye cudna find a thistle on Burnbrae, no, nor a docken. Gin we a' keepit oor land as clean it wud set us better,” and Hillocks spoke with the solemnity of one pointing the moral of a good man's life.
“He hed a fine hert tae,” added Whinnie, feeling that Hillocks's eulogy admitted of expansion; “he cam up laist summer when George wes lying in the decline, and he says tae me, 'Whinnie, yir pasture is fair burnt up; pit yir coos in ma second cutting: George maun hae gude milk,' an' they fed a' the summer in Burnbrae's clover. He didna like sic things mentioned, but it disna maitter noo. Marget wes awfu' touched.”
“But ye cudna ca' Burnbrae a shairp business man,” said Jamie Soutar critically; “he keepit Jess Stewart daein' naethin' for five year, and gared her believe she wes that usefu' he cudna want her, because Jess wud suner hae deed than gaen on the pairish.
“As for puir fouk, he wes clean redeeklus; there wesna a weedow in the Glen didna get her seed frae him in a bad year. He hed abeelity in gaitherin', but he wes wastefu' in spendin'.