“It's a lang schulin', but it hes dune its wark weel in Drumtochty. A'm no sayin' oor fouk are clever or that they haena fauts, but a'm prood to hev been born and lived ma days in the Glen. A' dinna believe there's a leear amang us--except maybe Milton, an' he cam frae Muirtown--nor a cooard wha wudna mak his hand keep his head; nor a wastrel, when Charlie Grant's in Ameriky; nor a hard-herted wratch 'at wudna help his neebur.
“It's a rouch schule the Glen, an' sae wes puir Domsie's; but, sall, he sent oot lads 'at did us credit in the warld, an' a 'm judging Drumsheugh, that the scholars that gied oot o' the Glen the ither road 'ill hae their chance tae, an' pit naebody tae shame. Ye ken a' hevna hed muckle time for releegion, but a body gies a thocht tae the ither warld at a time, an' that's ma ain mind.”
“Ye're maybe no far wrang, Weelum; it soonds wise like, but... ye canna be sure.”
“A've seen fouk 'at were sure,” said the doctor, “an' a 'm thankfu' that a' kent auld Burnbrae. He wes a strict man, an' mony a lecture he gied me aboot gaein' tae kirk an' usin' better langidge, but a' tell ye, he wes the richt sort; nae peetifu' chaff o' heepocrisy aboot him.
“Did ye see onything?” Drumsheugh leaned forward and spoke in a whisper.
“A' saw naething but a gude man gaein' oot on his lang journey, an' a' want tae see nae graunder sicht.
“He wesna conscious, an' his wife, puir wumman, wes murnin' that she wudna get a last look, an' John, him 'at 's Burnbrae noo, wes distressed for his mither's sake.
“'Say the name,' for a' wes holdin' his head, 'an' he 'ill hear;' but a' cudna; it wesna for my tongue.
“So he said it into his father's ear, an' Burnbrae opened his eyes, and githered them a' in a smile, an' a' heard twa words.
“'No evil.' He wes past sayin' fear.... Drumsheugh, a' wud... tak ma chance the nicht wi' auld Burnbrae.”
“Ma mither didna ken us for the laist twa days,” and Drumsheugh rested his head on his hands.
“Ye mind the bit lassiky”--Maclure would tell all when he was at it--“that lived wi' Mary Robertson and Jamie Soutar made sic a wark aboot, for her mither wes dead; she wes chokin' wi' her tribble, an' a' took her on ma knee, for Daisy and me were aye.
“'Am a' gaein' tae dee the day?' she said, an' a' cud not tell a lee lookin' intae yon een.'