When Hillocks went abroad to kirk or market he made a brave endeavour to conceal his depression, but it was less than successful.
“Yon 's no a bad show o' aits ye hae in the wast park the year, Hillocks; a'm thinkin' the 'ill buke weel.”
“Their lukes are the best o' them, Netherton; they 're thin on the grund an' sma' in the head, but a' cudna expeck better, for the land 's fair worn oot; it wes a gude fairm aince, wi' maybe thirty stacks in the yaird every hairst, and noo a'm no lookin' for mair than twenty the year.”
“Weel, there's nae mistak aboot yir neeps, at ony rate; ye canna see a dreel noo.”
“That wes guano, Netherton; a'hed tae dae something tae get an ootcome wi' ae crap, at ony rate; we maun get the rent some road, ye ken, and pay oor just debts.”
Hillocks conveyed the impression that he was gaining a bare existence, but that he could not maintain the fight for more than a year, and the third became thoughtful.
“Div ye mind, Netherton,” inquired Drumsheugh on his way from Muirtown station to the market, “hoo mony years Hillocks's 'tack' (lease) hes tae rin?”
“No abune twa or three at maist; a 'm no sure if he hes as muckle.”
“It's oot Martinmas a year as sure yir stannin' there; he 's an auld farrant (far-seeing) lad, Hillocks.”
It was known within a week that Hillocks was setting things in order for the battle.