The shrewdest people have some weak point, and Drumtochty was subject to the delusion that old Peter Robertson, the land steward, had an immense back-stairs influence with the factor and his lordship. No one could affirm that Peter had ever said as much, but he never denied it, not having been born in Drumtochty in vain. He had a habit of detaching himself from the fathers and looking in an abstracted way over the wall when they were discussing the factor or the prospects of a lease, which was more than words, and indeed was equal to a small annual income.
“Ye ken mair o' this than ony o' us, a 'm thinkin', Peter, if ye cud open yir mooth; they say naebody's word gaes farther wi' his lordship.”
“There's some fouk say a lot of havers, Drumsheugh, an' it 's no a' true ye hear,” and after a pause Peter would purse his lips and nod. “A 'm no at leeberty tae speak, an' ye maunna press me.”
When he disappeared into the kirk his very gait was full of mystery, and the fathers seemed to see his lordship and Peter sitting in council for nights together.
“Didna a' tell ye, neeburs?” said Drumsheugh triumphantly; “ye 'ill no gae far wrang gin ye hae Peter on yir side.”
Hillocks held this faith, and added works also, for he compassed Peter with observances all the critical year, although the word lease never passed between them.
“Ye wud be the better o' new seed, Peter,” Hillocks remarked casually, as he came on the land steward busy in his potato patch. “A 've some kidneys a' dinna ken what tae dae wi'; a 'll send ye up a bag.”
“It's rael kind of ye, Hillocks, but ye were aye neeburly.”
“Dinna speak o't; that 's naething atween auld neeburs. Man, ye micht gie 's a look in when yir passin' on yir trokes. The gude wife hes some graund eggs for setting.”
It was considered a happy device to get Peter to the spot, and Hillocks's management of the visit was a work of art.