He only became really fluent after he had been tasting, for which facilities were provided at five points on his route, and then he gave himself to theology, in which, from a technical point of view, he could hold his own with any man in the Glen except Lachlan Campbell and Jamie Soutar, As he could not always find another theologian when he was in this mood he used to walk the faster as a relief to his feelings, and then rest quietly by the roadside for half an hour, wrapt in meditation. You might have set your watch by his rising when he went on his way like a man whose mind was now at ease.
His face was so unconscious and unsuspicious during these brief retreats that it arrested a well-doing tramp one day and exposed him to misconstruction. It seemed to him, as he explained afterwards to our policeman, that Posty might have fainted, and he felt it his duty to take charge of the mail-bag, which its guardian utilised to fill up the hollow of his back. Very gently did the tramp loosen the strap and extricate the bag. He was rising from his knees when a big red hand gripped his arm, and Posty regarded the tree above his head with profound interest.
“A 'm obleeged tae ye,” a voice began, “for yir thochtfu' attention, an' the care ye took no tae disturb me. Ye 'ill be a resident in the Glen, a 'm coontin', an' wantin' yir letters,” and Posty rose with great deliberation and refastened the strap.
“A' canna mind yir face for the moment, but maybe ye 've veesitin' yir freends. Dinna gang awa till a' find yir letter; it micht hae money in 't, an' it 's plain ye 've needin't.
“Surely ye didna mean tae assault a puir helpless cratur,” continued Posty, picking up his stick and laying hold of the tramp by his rags, “an' rob him o' Her Majesty's mails? Div ye ken that wud be highway robbery wi' aggravations, and, man, ye micht be hanged and quartered.
“Ye wud never misconduct yirsel like that, but some o' yir freends micht, an' a' wud like tae send them a bit message.... Lord's sake, dinna yowl like that, or the neeburs 'ill think a'm hurtin' ye.”
Two hours later the tramp was found behind a hedge anointing his sores with butter, and using language which Posty, as a religious man, would have heard with profound regret.
When this incident came to Doctor Davidson's ears, he took a strong view, and spoke with such frankness and with such a wealth of family illustration, that Posty was much edified and grew eloquent.
“Say awa, doctor, for it's a' true, an' ye 're daein' yir duty as a minister faithfu' an' weel. A'm greatly obleeged tae ye, an' a 'll no forget yir warnin'. Na, na, it 'ill sink.
“Ye'ill no be angry, though, or think me liteegious gin a' pint oot a difference atween me an' ma brither that ye was neeburin' wi' me in the maitter o' tastin'.