A walk to Fairport had become somewhat of an adventure with Mr. Oldbuck, and one which he did not often care to undertake. He hated greetings in the market-place; and there were generally loiterers in the streets to persecute him, either about the news of the day, or about some petty pieces of business. So, on this occasion, he had no sooner entered the streets of Fairport, than it was “Good-morrow, Mr. Oldbuck—a sight o’ you’s gude, for sair een: what d’ye think of the news in the Sun the day?—they say the great attempt will be made in a fortnight.”
“I wish to the Lord it were made and over, that I might hear no more about it.”
“Monkbarns, your honour,” said the nursery and seedsman, “I hope the plants gied satisfaction?—and if ye wanted ony flower-roots fresh frae Holland, or” (this in a lower key) “an anker or twa o’ Cologne gin, ane o’ our brigs cam in yestreen.”
“Thank ye, thank ye,—no occasion at present, Mr. Crabtree,” said the Antiquary, pushing resolutely onward.
“Mr. Oldbuck,” said the town-clerk (a more important person, who came in front and ventured to stop the old gentleman), “the provost, understanding you were in town, begs on no account that you’ll quit it without seeing him; he wants to speak to ye about bringing the water frae the Fairwell-spring through a part o’ your lands.”
“What the deuce!—have they nobody’s land but mine to cut and carve on?—I won’t consent, tell them.”
“And the provost,” said the clerk, going on, without noticing the rebuff, “and the council, wad be agreeable that you should hae the auld stones at Donagild’s chapel, that ye was wussing to hae.”
“Eh!—what?—Oho! that’s another story—Well, well, I’ll call upon the provost, and we’ll talk about it.”
“But ye maun speak your mind on’t forthwith, Monkbarns, if ye want the stones; for Deacon Harlewalls thinks the carved through-stanes might be put with advantage on the front of the new council-house—that is, the twa cross-legged figures that the callants used to ca’ Robin and Bobbin, ane on ilka door-cheek; and the other stane, that they ca’d Ailie Dailie, abune the door. It will be very tastefu’, the Deacon says, and just in the style of modern Gothic.”
“Lord deliver me from this Gothic generation!” exclaimed the Antiquary,—“A monument of a knight-templar on each side of a Grecian porch, and a Madonna on the top of it!—O crimini!—Well, tell the provost I wish to have the stones, and we’ll not differ about the water-course. It’s lucky I happened to come this way to-day.”