Speaking of trespassing, I am reminded of a story which reveals how ready-witted the rural inhabitants can sometimes be. One day, many years ago, Willie Craig, a Perthshire village worthy, found himself in the near vicinity of Scone Palace, and by cutting through the woods there he would reach his destination much sooner than by holding to the public road. The old Earl of Mansfield could never distinguish between a trespasser and a poacher, and Willie knew this, and that if he was seen he would, at the very least, be turned back. Still the nearer road was so tempting that he ventured it, trusting his own ready wit to cope with the vigilance of the terror-striking game-preserver. All went well until about three-fourths of the forbidden ground had been traversed, when, lo and behold, the Earl appeared. Willie, alert to every sight and sound, eyed the Earl ere the Earl had time to eye him, so instantly turned on his heel and commenced to retrace his steps.
“Hi, sir!” cried the Earl, “where are you going?”
Willie snooved along and made no reply.
“Halt, sir!” cried the Earl, rushing up to where Willie was; “turn this moment, and go back the way you came.”
Willie meekly and instantly obeyed. He had not gone many paces when the Earl, straining a point in favour of so pliable a culprit, again stopped him and said he might go for this time. Willie hesitated for a moment, but, mastering the situation with one bright idea, he quickened his step, and, glancing over his shoulder, retorted with energy—
“Na, na, my lord; ye’ve turned me ance, but ye’ll never turn me twice. I’ll lat ye see, noo, that I’m just as independent as ye’re fit to be.”
Speaking of Perthshire worthies reminds me of another characteristic story. A thrifty middle-aged crofter of that ilk, until a year or two ago, lived a life of easy bachelorhood, his only domestic companion being an antiquated maiden sister. About the period indicated, however, following the example of the majority of his sex, he took unto himself a wife, whom he brought home to reside together with his sister and himself. “Twa women is ane ower mony in ony house,” says the proverb, and this instance proved no exception. The new-comer soon made the situation so hot for her sister-in-law that the crofter perceived that a reconstruction of his household was instantly necessary. He was equal to the occasion; the wife was dismissed sans ceremonie. On being interrogated by a neighbour on the policy of his action, Peter made reply—
“Was I gaun, think ye, to hae my sister abused by a woman that isna a drap’s bluid to ony o’ the twa o’ us?”
Very good! And Peter’s philosophic reply brings vividly before me the characteristic figure of honest Tammas Broon, a well-known denizen of a small Perthshire village. Tammas had little or no idea of things humorous; yet, as if by the inspiration of accident, he was continually passing remarks and answering questions in language and manner the most provocative of laughter. One day a Free Church minister—now of world-wide fame—was passing along while Tammas was busily engaged at the thatching of a stack in his own little barn-yard, and snatching readily at the circumstance as a means to the improvement of the moment, the divine called out—
“You are thatching, I see, Thomas. Do you think you will require to do any such work in the future existence?”