“It's no what a' wud hae expeckit o' the neeburs, an' least o' a' frae Drumsheugh,” Jean complained, as she sat on Thursday afternoon in the garden. Burnbrae had just returned from a very disappointing visit to Donald Menzies, who expounded a recent conflict with the devil in minute detail, but would not come within a mile of business.
“We maunna judge the fouk hardly,” said Burnbrae; “a bargain 's a bargain; they gave top prices, an' nae doot they wantit what they bocht. They did their pairt at the roup, an' it wud be unreasonable tae ask mair,” but Burnbrae was inwardly perplexed.
An hour afterwards James Soutar explained to Jean that he happened to be passing, and thought he would give them “a cry,” and ended by dragging Burnbrae off to the most distant field on the farm to decide when a patch of oats he had bought in the roup would be ready for the scythe. He then settled on a dyke, and for two hours fought the great war over again from beginning to end, with a keen dramatic instinct and an amazing flow of caustic commentary.
“A 'll no deny,” when Burnbrae compelled him to return for tea, “that a'm disappointed in the fouk sin laist Friday. They micht hae let their bargains gae an' sent ye up the rough o' the stockin'.
“Noo gin a' hed been the like o' Drumsheugh,” and Jamie again came to a halt, “a' wud hae scorned tae keep onything ye needed, but they 're grippy, there's nae doot o' that, in Drumtochty; a've thocht mony a time... is yon a cairt comin' up the road?
“If it's no a load o' implements and cairt-harness! It's terribly like Saunders frae Drumsheugh, but there's nae use cryin', for he 'ill no lat on he hears.
“Sall,” continued Jamie, as they struck the track, “there's been mair than ae cairt up here; an' a' didna see ye hed cattle in the gairden field as we passed.”
“Naither a' hev; there's no aleevin' beast on the place forbye puir Brownie. A' canna mak it oot!” and Burnbrae quickened his steps.
Donald Menzies's son passed with a bridle, as if he had left a horse “behind him, and Gormack met them on horseback, as if he had come with a cart, but, beyond the weather, they had nothing to say. Whinnie was wrestling with two stirks to get them into a field—with the result that one went up the road and another down, after the manner of their kind—and had no leisure for conversation. A large roller had stuck in the last gate, and young Netherton was not in a mood to answer questions.
“Ask Drumsheugh,” was all that could be got out of him as he backed his horse first one way and then the other.