“‘You’ll reduce the rent to the old figure, and put in the name of John Baxter, and let it be for the longest period we ever give on the estate.’
“‘But, Lord Kilspindie … I … did you know⸺’
“‘Do as I command you without another word,’ and his Lordship was fearful to behold.”
Baxter goes home to his farm victor. The news goes down the Glen,—or up it as the case may be,—and the question arises as to what Baxter is going to do with the farm that has been denuded of live stock and implements, and before you can say Jack Robinson every man who has made a purchase at the Burnbrae roup is off to Burnbrae with his purchase and dumps it down and leaves it there, free, gratis, and for nothing.
Now the whole of this story is simply ridiculous. Even if one swallowed the English factor who had turned an old tenant out of his farm on a question of kirk; even if one swallowed the neighbourly bidding up at the roup (not to mention the Victoria Cross and the fighting uncle and brither), Dr. Maclaren cannot make us believe that a Scotchman would part freely and without price with anything that he had once bought. And what a reflection it is upon the dulness of the patient, resigned, and tear-stricken Burnbrae, that he did not have the presence of mind to address dear, good Earl of Kilspindie before the roup came off! But had he done that, of course, Dr. Ian Maclaren could not have made his point as to the incredible generosity of the dwellers about Drumtochty.
But the Glen could boast much more remarkable men than Burnbrae. There is Drumsheugh, about as pale a martyr as a martyr-loving people could wish for. Drumsheugh passed in the Glen for a hard man and a miser, “a wratch that ’ill hae the laist penny in a bargain, and no spend a saxpence gin he can keep it.” But Drumsheugh was sairly misjudged. He carried his tribble for mair than thirty year, and then unburdened himself of it over the whiskey to his friend, Dr. Maclure. “‘It wes for anither A githered, an’ as fast as A got the gear A gied it awa’,’ and Drumsheugh sprang to his feet, his eyes shining; ‘it wes for love’s sake A haggled an’ schemed, an’ stairved an’ toiled, till A’ve been a byword at kirk an’ market for nearness; A did it a’, an’ bore it a’, for ma love, an’ for … ma love A wud hae dune ten times mair.’” Naturally, and the lady in the case was named Marget, the bonniest as weel as the noblest o’ weemen (they all are). Well, Drumsheugh fell in love with Marget when she was in her bloom. With the true Scottish reticence, however, he omitted to mention his condition to the object of his affection, so that she went off quite properly and married a feckless person named Whinnie, who, being feckless, got himself into persistent holes for money, so that Whinnie and Marget were continually being threatened with the loss of their happy home, and all the time Drumsheugh, for love’s sake, kept on sending money through his solicitors in the name of Whinnie’s rich uncle in America. For thirty years Whinnie continued to be a drain on his purse, and Drumsheugh spake no word, but went on loving Marget all the time. Being made the recipient of this astonishing confidence, Maclure is for posting off to Marget right away, and she, good woman, posts as swiftly off to Drumsheugh. It is a case of ae fond kiss and dinna peety me, Marget; A’ve hed ma reward, an’ A’m mair than content; and we wind up with the biblical reflection that “They which shall be accounted worthy … neither marry nor are given in marriage … but are as the angels of God in Heaven”; which is all very pretty and all very Scotch, and all made to sell. We may note, however, that Drumsheugh did not stand alone in Drumtochty for his devotion to a lost love. The fetch is too easy and too safe for Dr. Maclaren to allow himself the use of it only once. There was a man in Drumtochty who had been counted a cynic and a railer against “merridge,” even as Drumsheugh was accounted a miser. In the course of nature this man, Jamie Soutar, came to die. On his death bed he remarked to a friend, “‘Wha sed A wes against merridge, Doctor Davidson?’ and Jamie’s face flushed. ‘Did ever man or woman hear me speak lichtly o’ the mystery o’ love? The Glen hes thocht me an auld cankered bachelor, an’ A’ve seen a lass leave her lad’s side on the sicht o’ me. Little they kent!’” And it transpires that “‘forty-five years syne A met … a lassie near Kildrummie, an’ A cam tae love her aince and for ever, an’ we hed … seeven evenin’s thegither. When A cam the next day she wesna there, an’ A hoddit amang the trees for a ploy; but it wes lang waitin’, for she didna come, an’ A gaed hame wi’ fear in ma hert.…
“‘A set aff tae her hoose, and ilka turn o’ the road A lookit for Menie. Aince ma hert loupit in ma breist like a birdie in its cage, for a wumman cam’ along the near road frae Kildrummie, but it wesna Menie.
“‘When A saw her brither wi’ his face tae Drumtochty, A kent, afore he said a word, that he wes seekin’ me, an’ that Menie was deid. Never a tear cam’ that day tae ma een, an’ he telt me, stannin’ in the middle o’ the road, where it begins tae gae doon the hill:
“‘It wes her throat, an’ the doctor wes feared frae the first day. The nicht she didna come she wes carried (delirious); she … said, “Jamie, Jamie,” ower an’ ower again, an’ wanted tae rise.