The Doctor was great on such occasions. A surprising soft radiance, almost like a halo, surrounded his smooth snowy locks. A holy calm, exhaling from half a century of spotless life lived in the sight of all men, spoke in every word, moved in every gesture. The elders stood about grave and quiet. The great Bible lay open. The psalm of dedication was sung—of which the overword is, “Lo, children are God’s heritage,” and the conclusion the verse which no Scot forgets the world over, perhaps because it contains, quite unintentionally, so delightful a revelation of his own national character—
“O happy is the man that hath
His quiver filled with those:
They unashamed in the gate
Shall speak unto their foes.”
CHAPTER XXXIX
THE WICKED FLAG
“There’s Boyd Connoway has been sitting on my front doorstep,” cried my Aunt Jen, “and if I’ve telled the man once, I’ve telled him twenty times!”
“But how do ye ken, Janet?” said her mother out of the still-room where she was brewing nettle-beer. “He is not there now!”
“How do I ken—fine that!” snapped Jen. “Do I no see my favourite check pattern on his trousers!” said Jen, which, indeed, being plain to the eye of every beholder, admitted of no denial—except perhaps, owing to point of view, by the unconscious wearer himself. He had sat down on these mystic criss-crossings and whorls dear to the Galloway housewife for her floor ornaments, while the whiting was still wet.
“It’s no wonder,” Jen pursued vengefully, “they may say what they like. An I were that man’s wife, I wad brain him. Here he has been the livelong day. Twa meals has he eaten. Six hours has he hung about malingering. He came to roof the pigstye. He tore off the old thatch, and there it lies, and there will lie for him. If there is frost, Girzie’s brood will be stiff by the morning. Then he ‘had a look’ at my roasting-jack and ... there it is!”