On making his way to a farmhouse one day where he was usually quite at home, Will accidentally lighted on a young cow of his host’s, which had got swamped in a bog.

The poor creature was sunk so deep that no more than the ridge of the back, the head, and half the neck was to be seen. Will ran to the house at his utmost speed, and threw open the kitchen door flat against the wall, which rebounded back again with a noise like the discharge of a piece of artillery. The whole family, who were engaged at morning prayers, started from their knees. “Ye’re losin’ mair than ye’re winnin’,” exclaimed Will, almost out of breath. “There’s ane o’ yer stirks doun in the bog there. Rin an’ tak’ her out, or she’ll sune be o’ nae mair value to you than the hide an’ horns. Prayers are a’ richt, an’ ye’re no sae aften at them maybe as ye should; but dinna be prayin’ when ye should be puttin’ to hands.” Will’s gospel was thoroughly orthodox.

Surely, my reader, these anecdotes and illustrations, besides revealing the strong and ready sense of humour which obtains in the mind and manifests itself in the speech of the ordinary Scottish natural, serve to corroborate the witty saying of the Rev. Walter Dunlop of Dumfries, namely, that “Ye’ll often see a bricht licht shinin’ through a crack.”

CHAPTER XV
JAMIE FLEEMAN, THE LAIRD OF UDNY’S FOOL

Jamie Fleeman, the Laird of Udny’s Fool, the most illustrious, was probably the very last of his order in Scotland. A real “natural,” Jamie had, notwithstanding, rare “glimmerings of common-sense,” as Bailie Nicol Jarvie avowed concerning the Dugal Craitur, and possessed a pungency of ready wit and humour and withering sarcasm which caused him to be dreaded as a foe and trusted as a friend. Without troubling to follow the details of Jamie’s career, interesting as these are, we will simply glance en passant at his strange personality, and proceed to account some well-authenticated stories in which he was a prime actor.

Biographically, suffice it to say that, according to one writer, he was a native of Longside, in Aberdeenshire, and was born on the 7th April, 1713, whilst an earlier chronicler asserts that the place of the great man’s birth is so uncertain that the eighty-and-one parishes of Aberdeenshire might, if they pleased, contend for that honour in like manner as the seven cities of Greece contended for the glory of having been the birthplace of Homer. Jamie spent the days of his boyhood about the house of Sir Alexander Guthrie of Ludquharn, and at a very early period of life began, by his bluntness of manner and shrewdness of remark, to attract the notice of his superiors. By and by he gravitated to Udny, which remained his “head-quarters” during many pleasant years. He had a strange appearance. “His countenance—indescribably, and even painfully, striking—wore that expression which at once betrays the absence of sound judgment; his head large and round—his hair perhaps naturally brown, but rendered, by constant exposure to the weather, of a dingy fox-colour, and not sleek, but standing on end—as if Jamie had been frightened out of his wits—indicated that his foolishness was not assumed but real.” A person of strong and reliable affection, Jamie had equally strong and confirmed prejudices. The latter had respect to places, persons, and animals. No red-haired woman, for example, could gain his respect. “Whaur saw ye ever a lady wi’ scarlet hair?” he would growl. He had a prejudice in favour of dogs, and a hatred of cats, and this, he said, was “gentlemanny.” All the curs in the country knew him, and were glad to see him. Wherever he stayed, the dog was generally permitted to share his bed and board. At Waterton he taught a large house-dog to observe a line drawn across the porridge pot. On one side of the line the porridge belonged to Jamie, on the other the dog was permitted to feed, Jamie’s spoon making the boundary line to be duly respected. One morning the dog being from home, the cook insisted that the cat should be permitted to take Curry’s place. Fleeman’s countenance fell at the suggestion, but he did not venture to remonstrate and run the risk of losing the cook’s favour. Pussy was accordingly placed at the opposite side of the pot from Jamie, but ignorant of the law of the pot, she speedily transgressed by putting her nose across the marshes. Fleeman suspended operations, and viewed her for a moment with an eye of sovereign contempt. A like transgression on the part of the dog would have been adequately punished by a slap over the head with the back of his spoon; but less mercy must be shown to the cat, so, quietly slipping his hand down on the enemy’s head, he, with a sudden jerk, plunged her over the ears into the scalding mess, gravely remarking the while, “Desperate diseases require desperate cures, ye curst wretch!”

Factors were no favourites with Jamie either, and it was a trait in his character that he employed every opportunity that presented itself to annoy those whom he held in aversion. One day a proprietor, at whose house he was on a visit, was walking out with his factor, and showing him a field of hill-land which he had cultivated at considerable expense, but which had proved very unproductive. “I have tried many things,” said the gentleman; “what do you think, if planted, would be likely to thrive in it?”

The factor, a very corpulent man, put on an air of great consequence, and stood musing for a time, during which Jamie was overheard saying—

“O’d, I could tell ye what would thrive in’t.”