Jock referred to the Burnbrae roup as long as he lived, and gave incidents with dramatic force in the train, but every one knows he had nothing to do with its success.
“Ye needna waste time speaking the day, Jock,” Drumsheugh advised before they began on the potatoes; “pit up the articles, and we 'ill see tae the bids.” Which Drumtochty did without one slack moment, from the potatoes, which fetched one pound an acre more than had been known in the parish, to a lot of old iron which a Kildrummie blacksmith got at something under cost price. People hesitated to award praise where all had done well, but the obstinacy of Hillocks, which compelled a Muirtown horse-dealer to give forty-two pounds for a young horse, and Whinnie's part in raising the prices for fat cattle, are still mentioned. When Jock came down from his table in the field, he was beyond speech, and Drumtochty regarded Drumsheugh with unfeigned admiration.
“Gude nicht tae ye, Burnbrae,” said that great man, departing; “if ye hae tae gang it 'ill no be empty-handed,” and although Burnbrae did not understand all, he knew that his neighbours had stood by him without stint that day.
For an hour the buyers were busy conveying away their goods, till at last the farm had been stripped of all the animal life that had made it glad, and those familiar articles that were each a link with the past. Burnbrae wandered through the staring sheds, the silent stable, the empty granary, and then he bethought him of his wife. When her kirn was put up he had been moved by a sudden emotion and bought it back, and he saw her face for an instant between the bushes of the garden. Where was Jean? He sought her in the house, in the garden, and could not find her. Then he heard the rattle of a chain in one of the byres, and understood. Jean's favourite cow had been kept, and she was sitting in the stall with her, as one left desolate. When Burnbrae entered, Brownie turned her head and looked at him with an intelligent understanding in her soft, motherly eyes.
“She's a' that's left o'ma byre,” and Jean burst into a passion of weeping. “Ye mind hoo they deed in the rinder-pest ane by ane, and were buried; juist Brownie cam through, and noo she's alane again.
“That wes the judgment o' the Almichty, and we daurna complain, but this wes the doin' o' man, an' ma hert is bitter.
“A' the beasts a' reared, an' the gear we githered, a' sold and carried off, till there's nae soond heard in the hooses, nae wark tae dae.”
Burnbrae sat down and flung his arm round her, and as the two old heads were bent together, the gentle animal beside them missed her companions and moaned.
After a while Burnbrae began:
“It 's a shairp trial, wife, an' hard tae bear. But dinna forget oor mercies. We hae oor fower laddies left us, an' a' daein' weel.