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irrata
to

pelure,
n d

□

32X

1 2 3

4 5 6

liMi #

.Ac

ivA. Mccdau

A DOCTOR or

((^^E OLD SCHOOL

/;•)/

^pm

%0octor

0ldScf)ool\

lPft6 9//us(raO'o/)s 6^ -^

"•^<5''^ i^^^'^ -^^d-^

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^^S^

148173

Con,-Rrr,HT, 1894

i;v

I>OI)D. AlKAf, .^. COAIPANY

l)V

DODD. MEAi, ft c().\ri'ANY
A/i >-iir/i/s fL-served

THE CAXTON PRESS

"EW YORK

CONTENTS

PAGR

A Gkneral Practitioner .

THRorcH THE Flwod

A Fight with Death .

The Doctor's Last Joi-rney j^^

The Mourning oj- the Glen i5„

ILLUSTRATIONS

Dr. MacLure . . . Frontispiece

Sandy Stewart " Napped " Stones .

The Gudewife is Keepin' up a Ding-Dong

His House — little more than a cottage

Whirling Past in a Cloud of Dust .

Will He Never Come?

The Verra Look o' Him wes Vic.ory

Weeping by Her Man's Hedside

For Such Risks of Life, Men Get the Victo-
ria Cross in Other Fields .

Hopps' Laddie Ate Grosarts

'Inhere werna Mair than Four at Nicht

A' doot Yir Gaein' tae Lose Her, Tamrnas

The Bonniest, Snoddest, Kindliest Lass in

the Glen . . . .
The Winter Night was Falling Fast
Comin' tae Meet Me in the (lloamin'

I'AdK

23
26

28
31

35
4^

47
53

59
60

ILLUSTRATIONS

It's oot o' the Question, Jess, sae Hurry up
It's a Fell Chairge for a Short Day's Work
The East had Come to Meet the West
MacLure Explained that it would be an

Eventful Journey,
They Passed through the Shallow Water
without Mishap ....

A Heap of Speechless Misery by the Kit-
chen Fire .....
Ma ain Dear Man ....
I'm Proud to have Met You
Gave Way Utterly ....
Fillin' His Lungs for Five and Thirty Year

v/i' Strong Drumtochtv Air .
Bell Leant Over the Bed

A Large Tub

The Lighted Window in Saunder's Cottage

\ Clenched Fist Resting on the Bed

The Doctor was Attempting the Highland

Fling

Sleepin' on the Top o' Her Bed .

A' Prayed Last Nicht ....

PAGB

68
71

85
89

lOu

103
107
no

117
119
121

ILLUSTRATIONS

I've a Cold in My Head To-night .
Jess Bolted without Delay
Comin' in Frae Olen Urtach
Drunisheugh was Full of Tact
Told Drunisheugh that the Doctor was not
Able to Rise

• • •

With the Old Warm Gri})

Drunisheugh Looked Wistfully

Wud Gie Ker a Bite o' Grass

Ma Mithei's Bible

It's a Coorse Nicht, Jess .

She's Carryin' a Licht in Her Hand

The Tochty Ran with Black, Swollen

Stream .
Toiled Across the (;ien
There was Nae Use Trying tae Dig Oot the

Front Door
Ane of Them Gied Ower the Head in a

Drift, and His Neeburs bed tae pu'

Him oot .

Tv'o Men in Plaids were Descending the
Hill

I'AfiE
J 28

160
163

173

176

181

■Hi

ILLUSTRATIONS

Jined Hands and Cam ower Fine

Twa Horses, Ane afore the Ither

He had Left His Overcoat, and was in

Black

Death after All was Victor .

She Began to Neigh ....

They had Set to Work

Standing at the Door ....

Finis ...

PAGE
184
187

197
199
202
203
209

PREFACE

It is with great good will that I write this
short preface to the edition of " A Doctor of
the Old School " (which has been illustrated
by Mr. Gordon after an admirable and under-
standing fashion) because there are two things
that I should like to say to my readers, being
also my friends.

One, is to answer a question that has been
often and fairly asked. Was there ever any
doctor so self-forgetful and so utterly Chris-
tian as William MacLure? To which I am
proud to reply, on my conscience : Not one
man, but many in Scotland and in the South
country. I will dare prophecy also across
the sea.

It has been one man's g^ood fortune to know

PKIilACE

fmir country doctors, „ot one of whom was
w.tliout Ins fauIts-Wcclum was not perfect
—but who, each one, mi^.ht have sat for my
hero. Three are now resting from tlieir
labors, and the fourtli, if he ever should see
these h'nes, would never identify himself.

Tlien I desire to thank my readers, and
chieHy the medical professsion for the recep-
tion oivcn to the Doctor of Drumtoclity.

For many years I luive desired to pay
some tribute to a class whose service to the
community was known to every countryman,
but after the tale had gone forth my heart
failed. For it nn'ght have been despised for
the little grace of letters in the style and
because of the outward roughness of the man.
But neither his biographer nor his circum-
stances have been able to obscure MacLure
who has himself won all honest hearts, and
received afresh the recognition of his more
distinguished brethren. From all parts of the

PREFACE

Kn^.Ii,sh-,speal<,„j, „.o,l,l letters Ikuc c„,ne i„

con„ne„d,tio„ofVVcelu,nM,cLu,e.a„d„,a„y
were from doctor,, nho ,,,,.1 .eceived now
couraj^e. It i,, ,^,,^y „,„,^ ,,^„^,. ,,^_,_^^ _^ _^^^^

^■ntcr could ever have deserved to receive the
approbation of a profession whose charity pt,ts
us all to shame. '

May I take this first opportunity to declare

how deeply my te,rt has been touched by tl,e
favor shown to a sin.ple book by the An.eri-

7" '.""'"^' •^"" '" -P>-' n.y Lope that one

<lay,t may be given me to see you face to
race.

I'ivcrpool, Oct. 4, 1S95.

Ian MacLaren.

A GENERAL PRACTITlONirR.

Ty\L

RUMTOCIITY was accus-
tomed to break' every law
of liealtli. except wliolcsonie food
and fresh air, and yet had re-
duced the Psalmist's farthest limit
to an axerage life-rate. Our men
"lade no difference in their clothes for sum-
•"er or winter, Drun.sheu,.h and one or
two of the larger farmers condescendin.r to
^^ topcoat on Sabbath, as a penalty of tlieir
position, and without regard to temperature.

A DOCTOR OI<" TilK OLD SCHOOL

They wore their blacks at a funeral, refus-
ing to cover them with anything, out of
respect to the deceased, and standing long-
est in the kirkj'ard when the north wind
was blowing across a hundred miles of
snow. If the rain was pouring at the Junc-
tion, then Drunitochty stood two minutes
longer through sheer native dourness till
each man had a cascade from the tail of
his coat, and hazarded the suggestion, half-
way to Kildrummie, that it had been " a
bit scrowie," a " scrowie " being as far short
of a " shoor " as a " shoor " fell below " weet."
This sustained defiance of the elements
provoked occasional judgments in the shape
of a " hoast " (cough), and the head of the
house was then exhorted by his women folk
to " change his feet " if he had happened
to walk through a burn on his way home,
and was pestered generally with sanitary
precautions. It is right to add that the

ifus-

)ng-

/ind

inc-

Lites

till

lalf-

lort

et."

;nts

ape

the

folk

ned

SANDY S.-EWART " NAPPED " STONBS

sC.,#***'tf;

A (iKNKUAI. rKACrmoNKK

giiilcJiian treated such acKico with coti-
tcmpt, rcgarciinrj it as suitable for t lie effem-
inacy of towns, but not seriously inlended
for Drunitociit/. Sandy Stewart " napp.d "
stones on the road in his slurt sleeves, wet or
{iiir, sunnuer and u inter, till he was pcrsuailed
to retire from acti\e duty at ei^dity-five, and
he spent ten years more in regretting,' his has-
tiness and criticising his successor. The
ordinary course of life, with fine air and con-
tented minds, was to do a full share of
work till sevent)', and then to look after
"orra" jobs well into the eighties, and to
"slip awa" uithin sight of ninety. Persons
above ninety were understood to be acquitting
themselves with credit, and assumed airs of
authority, brushing aside the opinions of
seventy as immature, and confirming their
conclusions with illustrations drawn from the
end of last century.

When Hillocks' brother so far forgot him-

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

self as to " slip awa " at sixty, that worthy
iiian was scandalized, and ofHM'ed laboured
explanations at the " becrial."

" It's an awfu' business on)' wy ye look at it,
an' a sair trial tae us a'. A' never heard tell
o' sic a thing in oor family afore, an' it's no
easy accoontin' for't.

"The gudewife was sayin' he wes ne\er the
same sin' a wcct nicht ho lost iiimsel on the
niuir and slept below a bush ; but that's
neither here nor there. A'm think in' he
sappit his constitution thae twa )'ears he wes
grieve aboot England. That wes thirty )'ears
syne, but ye're never the same aifter thae for-
eign climates."

Drumtochty listened patiently to Hillocks'
apology, but was not satisfied.

" It's clean havers about the muir. Losh
keep's, we've a' sleepit oot and never been a
hair the -vaur.

"A' admit that England micht hae dune the

ortliy
Durcd

at it,
d tell
's no

r the
1 the
hat's
' he

wcs
ears

for-

cks'

rosh

n a

the

A GENERAr. PRACTITIONER

job ; it's iiu caniiie stravagin' yon wy frae place
tae place, but Drums never complained tae
nic if he hed been nippit in the Sooth."

The parish had, in fact, lost confidence in
Drums after his wayward experiment with a
potato-digging machine, which turned out a
lamentable failure, and his premature depar-
ture confirmed our vague impression of his
character.

" He's awa noo," Drumsheugh summed up,
after opinion had time to form; "an' there
were waur fouk than Drums, but there s nae
doot he was a wee flicht}\"

When illness had the audacity to attack a
Drumtochty man, it ^\•as described as a
" whup," and was treated by the men with a
fine negligence. Hillocks was sitting in the
post-office one afternoon wh.en I looked in for
my letters, and the right side of his face was
blazing red. His subject of discourse was the
prospects of the turrap '• breer," but he casu-

'» i

A DOCTOR ()!• THE OLD SCHOOL

ally explained that he was waiting for medical
advice.

" The gudewifc is kee[)in' up a diiii^-dong
frae mornin' till nichf- 'iboot ma face, and a'm
fair dcavcd (deafened), so a'm watchin' for
Mac Lure ♦lae get a bottle as he comes wast ;
yon's him noo."

The doctor made his diairnosis from horse-
back on sight, and stated the result with that
admirable clearness which endeared him to
Drumtochty.

" Confoond ye, Hillocks, what are ye ploit-
erin' aboot here for in tlie weet wi' a face like
a boiled beet? Div ye no ken that ye've a
titch o' the rose (erysipelas), and ocht tae be
in the hoose ? Gae hamc wi' \'e afore a'
leave the bit, and send a haflin for some medi-
cine. Ye donnerd idiot, are ye ettlin tae fol-
low Drums afore yir time? " And the medical
attendant of Drumtochty conunued his invec-
tive till Hillocks started, and still pursued his

f I

'THH GUDnWII'E lb KKIU'In' 1,1. A DINO-UONG"

A HENKKAL PRACTITIONKK

retreating figure witli medical directions of a

simple and practical character.

"A'm watchin', an'
peety yc if )'e pit aff
time. Keep yir bed the

mornin', and

dinna show

yir face in the

fields till a'

see )-e. A '11

Rie ye a cry on Monday

— sic an aiild fule—but
there's no anc o' them
tae mind anither in the hale pairish."

Hillocks' wife informed the kirk>'aird tliat
the doctor " gied the gudcman an awfii' clear-
in'," and that Hillocks <' wes keepin' the

A DOCTOR (JF THE OLD SCHOOL

hoose," which meant that the patient liad tea
breakfast, and at that time was wandering
about the farm buildings in an easy undress
with his head in a plaid.

It was impossible for a doctcM* to earn even
the most modest competence from a people of
such scandalous health, and so MacLure had
annexed neighbouring parishes. His house —
little more than a cottage — stood on the road-
side iimong the pines towards the head of our
Glen, and from this base of operations he
dominated the wild glen that broke the wall
of the Grampians above Drumtochty — where
the snow drifts were twelve feet deep in win-
ter, and the only way of passage at times was
the channel of the river — and the moorland
district westwards till he came to the Dunleith
sphere of influence, where there were four doc-
tors and a hydropathic. Drumtochty in its
length, which was eight miles, and its breadth,
which was four, lay in his hand ; besides a

A GENERA r. PRACTITIONER

glen behind, unknown to iJic uork!. uhicli in
the night time lie visited at the risk of life, for
tl^c ^^•a>' thereto was across the big moor with
Its peat holes and treacherous bogs. And he
held the land eastwards towards Muirtown so
far as Geordie, the Drumtochty post, travelled
every day, and could carry word that the doc-
tor was wanted. He did his best for the need
of every man, woman and child in this wild
straggling district, ycav in, year out, in the'
^now and in the heat, in the dark and in the
light, without rest, and without holiday for
forty years.

One horse could not do the work of this
■nan, but we hked best to sec him on his old
" Inte mare, who died the ueek after her mas-
tor, and the passing of the two did our hearts
good. It wa,, not that he rode beautifully
for he broke every canon of art, flying with
"" ■■"™'' ''°°P''ng till he seemed to be speak-
">g ".to Jesss ears, and rising in the saddle

h I

i !

A DOCTOK ()!• TIIK OLD SCHOOL

beyond all necessity. But he could rise
faster, stay longer in the saddle, and had a
firmer grip with his knees than any one I ever

■ '!' '

A UENEKAL I'KACTITK )Ni:k

met, and it was all for mercy's sake. When
the reapers in harvest time saw a figure whirl-
ing past in a cloud of dust, or the family at
the foot of Glen Urtach, gathered round the
fire on a winter's night, heard the rattle
of a horse's hoofs on the road, or the
shepherds, out after the sheep, traced a
black speck moving across the snow to the
upper glen, they knew it was the doctor,
and, without being conscious of it, wished
him God speed.

Before and behind his saddle were strapped
the instruments and medicines the doctor
might want, for he ne\er knew what was be-
fore him. There were no specialists in Drum-
tochty, so this man had to do evervthin<T as
best be could, and as quickly. He was chest
doctor and doctor for every other organ as well;
he was accoucheur and surgeon ; he was ocu-
list and aurist; he was dentist and chloro-
formist, besides being chemist and druggist.

lii s

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

It was often told how
he was far up Glen Ur-
tach when the feeders of
the threshing mill caught
young Burnbrae, and how
he only stopped to change
horses at his house,
and galloped all the
way to Burnbrae, and
flung himself off his
horse and amputated
the arm, and saved
the lad's life.
" You wud
hae thocht
that every
mecnut
was an

hour," said Jamie Soutar, who had been at
the threshing, " an' a'll never forget the puir
lad lying as white as deith on the floor o'

A (iENEKAL I'KACTITIONKR

jen at

puir

)or o'

the loft, wi' his head on a sheaf, an' Ikirn-
biae haudin' the bandaj^e ticht an' prayin'
a' tlie while, and the mither ^reetin' in the
c(M'nei'.

" ' Will he never come ? ' she cries, an' a'
heard the soond o' the )iorsc's feet on the
road a mile awa in the frosty air.

" ' The Lord be praised ! ' said Ikirnbrae,
and a' slippit doon the ladder as the doctor
came skelpin' intae the close, the foam fleein'
frae his horse's mooth.

" Whar is he ? ' wes a' that passed his lips,
an' in five meenuts he hed him on the feedin'
board, and wes at his wark — sic wark, neeburs
— but he did it weel. An' ae thing a' thocht
rael thochtfu' o' him : he first sent aff the lad-
die's mither tae get a bed ready.

" Noo that's feenished, and his constitution

ill dae the rest,' and he carried the lad doon

the ladder in his airms like a bairn, and laid

him in his bed, and waits aside him till he wes

A DOCTOR 0|- TIIK OF. I) SCIlOOl.

, r

iiiii

lili

!.l

slcq)in', and then says lie: ' I^inibrac, yir
{^cy lad never tae say ' Collie, will \ click ?'
for a' he\'na tasted meat for saxteeii hoors.'

" It was niichty tae see liim come intae the
yaird that day, nceburs; the \erra look o' him
wes victory."

Jamie's cj-nicism slipi^etl off in the enthusi-
asm of this reminiscence, and he expresscil the
feelinj^j of Drumtochty. No one sent for Mac-
Lure save in <]jreat straits, and the si^dit of him
put courage in sinkini; hearts, liut this was
not by th<' j^race of his appearance, or the ad-
vantage of a good bedside manner. A tall,
gaunt, loosely made man, without an ounce of
superfluous flesh on his body, his face burned
a dark brick color b}' constant exposure to the
weather, red hair and beard turning grey, hon-
est blue eyes that l(X)k you ever in the face,
huge hands with wrist bones like the shank of
a ham, and a voice that hurled his salutations
across two fields, he suiTLTt-'sted the moor rather

iHE VEKKA I.OUK o" HIM Wlib VltTuKY "

I P-

'TTHT

I'l 'I il

lum

.11 !

:!i il

I li

A GENliKAI. I'KACTITIONER

than the ch-a\vin^-room.
But what a clover hand
it was in an operation,
as delicate as a woman's,
and wha'. a kindl}' voice it
was in the humble room
where the shci)lierd's wife
was wecpin<j bx- her man's
bedside. I le was " ill
pitten thc-
L^ither" to
begin with,
but many of
his physical
defects were
the penalties
of his work,
\:\a endear-
ed him to
the Glen.
That n y, 1 y
33

1 ,, I

> HI

ll.i

I l!
i!!!:

ii li

Plf'
1

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

scar that cut into his right eyebrow and
gave him such a sinister expression, was got
one night Jess slipped on the ice and laid him
insensible eight miles from home. His limp
marked the big snowstorm in the fifties, when
his horse missed the road in Glen Urtach, and
they roiled together in a drift. MacLure
escaped with a broken Ic; and the fracture of
three ribs, but he never walked like other men
again. He could not swing himself into the
saddle without making two attempts and hold-
ing Jess's mane. Neither can you " warstle "
through the peat bogs and snow drifts for forty
winters without a touch of rheumatism. But
they were honorable scars, and for such risks
of life men get the Victoria Cross in other
fields.

MacLure got nothing buc t. crret af-
fection of the Glen, which knew ,' at none
had ever done one-tenth as much for it as this
ungainly, twisted, battered figure, and I have

;,:i;i!:

" FOK SUCH KISKS til-' Lll'li MliN (,l I Till-; VKTllKIA CROSS IN nTIIKK

IIELUS"

^!!il!l!

i I

!i in

i I i

:!!l!r

mm
ill 11

lit

.iX

■

Hmhh

m|hmm^^^

A GENERAL rKACTITIUNEK

•seen a Drumtochty face soften at ihe sight of
iMacLure limphv^ to liis liorse.

Mr. Hopps earned tlie ill-uill of the Glen for
ever by criticising the doctor's dress, but indeed
it would ha-'e filled any townsman with ama.e-
"^"'^^- ^^'^-^^' ^^^ ----- once a year, on Sacra-
ment Sunday, and, if possible, at a funeral •
topcoat or waterproof never. His jacket and
waistcoat were rough homespun of Glen Ur-
tach wool, ^vhich threw off the wet like a duck's
back, and below he was clad in shepherd's tar-
tan trousers, which disappeared into unpolished
ncling boocs. His shirt was grey flannel, and
he was uncertain about a collar, but certain as
to a t,e which he never had, his beard doin..
instead, and his hat was soft felt of four colors
and seven diffbrent shapes. H.s point of dis-
tinction in dress ^vas the trousers, and they
^vere the subject of unending speculation.

"Some threep that he's worn thae eedentical
pan- the last twent>^ year, an' a' mind masel

lii

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

l!!l

him gettin' a tear aliint, when ho was crossin'
oor palin', and the mend's still veesiblc.

" Ithers declare 'at he's got a wab o' claith,
and hes a new pair made in Muirtown aince in
the twa year maybe, and keeps them in tlie
garden till the new look wears aff.

" For ma ain pairt," Soutar used to declare,
" a' canna mak up my mind, but there's ae
thing sure, the Glen wud not like tae see him
withoot them : it wud be a shock tae con-
fidence. There's no muckle o' the check left,
but ye can aye tell it, and when ye sec thae
breeks comin' in ye ken that if human poocr
can save yir bairn's life it 'ill be dune."

The confidence of the Glen — and tributary
states — was unbounded, and rested parti)' on
long experience of the doctor's resources, and
partly on his hereditary connection.

" His father was here afore him," Mrs. Mac-
fndyen used to explain ; " atween them they've
hed the countyside for weel on tae a centur}' ;

A UiiNIiKAL PKACTITIONKR

if MacLurc clisnri uiulcrstand oor constitution,
wha clis, a' wud like tac ask? "

For Drumtochty liad its own constitution
and a special throat disease, as became a parish
wliich was quite self-contained between the
woods and the Jiills, and not dependent on the
lowlands either for its diseases or its doctors.
" He's a skilly man, Doctor MacLure," con-
tinued my friend Mrs. Macfayden, whose judg-
ment on sermons or anything else was seldom
at fault; " aiV a kind-hearted, thou-h o' coorsc
Jie hes his faults like us a', an' he disna tribble
the Kirk often.

" He aye can tell what's wrang ^i' a body,
an' maistly he can put ye richt, and there's'
nae new-fangled W)-s ^u him : a blister for the
ootside an' I<:p.som salts for the inside dis his
wark, an' they say there's no an herb on the
hills he disna ken.

"Jr we're tae dee, we're tae dee; an' if
we're tae live, we're tae live, concluded Els-

A DOCTOR or THE OLD SCHOOL

III liiiii

illi! 11^

li Ml! ■

nj!!'!l:n

pctli, with sound Calvinistic loyic ; " but a'U
say this for tlic doctor, th;it whether yir tac
live or dee, he can aye kcej) up a shirp meis-
ture on the skin.

" But he's no vecra ceevil f^in ye br'uv^ him
when there's naetiiin' wran;^," and Mrs. Mac-
fayden's face reHectcd another of Mr. Hopps'
misadventures of wliicli Hillocks held the
copyri<^ht.

" Hopps' laddie ate grosarts (gooseberries)
till they hed to sit up a' nicht wi' him, an'
naethin' wud do but they maun hae the dor-
tor, an' he writes ' immediately ' on a slip o'
paper.

" VVeel, MacLure had been awa a' nicht wi'
a shepherd's wife Dunleith w}', and he comes
here withoot drawin' bridle, mud up tae the een.

" ' What's a dae here. Hillocks ? " he cries ;
' it's no an accident, is't ? ' and when he got aff
his horse he cud hardly stand wi' stiffness and
tire.

ill

nOPPs' LADDIR ATE
GROSARTS "

il !

U 4;

V-i^

A r.EXKKAL PRACTrnoNKR

"'It'." nanc o* us, doctor; it's Hopps' lad-
die; he's been eatin' ovvcr mony berries.'
" If he didna turn on me like a tij^er.

" Div ye mean tae sa\- '

" ' Weesht, wecsht; an' I trieii tae (juiet
liim, for Hopps wes comin' oot.

" ' Well, doctor; becrins he, as brisk as a
magpie, 'you're here at last; there's no hurry
w ith you Scotchmen. My boy lias been sick
all night, and I've never had one wink of
sleep. You might have come a little quicker,
that's all I've got to say.'

" \Ve'\e mair tae dae in Drumtochty tlian
attend tae every bairn that lies a sair stomach,'
and a' saw MacLure wes roosed.

'"I'm astonislied to hear you speak. Our
doctor at home always says to Mrs. 'Opps
" Look on me as a flimily friend. Mrs. 'Opps,
and send for me though it be only a head-
ache." '

He'd be mair sparin' o' his offers if lie
43

A DOCTOR OI' TIIIC OI.I) SCHOOL

'!!!!II

!i'l;i

liiliiiii

hcd four and twenty mile tae look aiftcr.
There's naethin' wranj^^ \vi' yir laddie but
greed, (iie iiini a ^ude dose o' castor oil and
stop his meat for a day, an' he 'ill be a' richt
the morn.'

"' lie 'ill not take castor oil, doctor. We
have given up those barbarous medicines.'

" * Whatna kind o' medicines hae )'e noo in
the Sooth ? '

" ' Well, you see, Dr. MacLure, we're homce-
opathists, and I've • little chest here,' and
cot IIopps comes \.. ^iis boxy.

" ' Let's see't,' an' MacLure sits doon and
taks cot the bit bottles, and he reads the
names wi' a hiuch every time.

*' ' Belladonna ; did ye ever hear the like ?
Aconite ; it cowes a'. Nux Vomica. What
next ? Wcel, ma mannie,' he says tae Hopps,
' it's a fine ploy, and ye 'ill better gang on wV
the Nux till it's dune, and gie him ony ither
o' the sweeties he fancies,

A r.ENF.RAL I'UACTITIONKR

•" Noo, Hillocks, a' maun be a ff tac sec
Driiinslioii^'h's grieve, for lie's doon \vi' tlie
fever, and it's tae be a teuch fecht. A' hiiina
time tae wait for dinner; ^ie me some cheese
an' cake in ma haund, and Jess 'ill tak a pail

o' meal an' water.

ee ; am no wantni yir fees, man ; wi

that boxy ye dinna need a doctor ; na, na, ^ie yir
siller tae some puir body, Maister IIopps,' an'
he w.t ; doon the road as hard as he cud lick.'"

Mis fees were pretty much what thu folk
chose to give him, and he collected them once
a year at Kildrummie fair.

" Well, doctor, what am a' awin' )'e for the
wife and bairn ? Ye 'ill need three notes for
that niciit >-e stayed in the hoose an' a'
the veesits."

" Havers," MacLure would answer, " prices
are low, a'm hearing ; gie's thirty shillings."

" No, a'll no, or the wife 'ill tak ma ears
off," and it was settled for two pounds.

Iii"!i!

A DOCTOR OF THK OLD SCHOOL

■■■^•%

.lllllli

Lord Kilspliulie t^ave him a free house and
fields, and one way or other, Drumsheu<jli
told me, the doctor miL;"ht <;ct in about ;^I50
a year, out of which he had to pay his old
housekeeper's wages and a boy's, and keep
two horses, besides the cost of instruments
and books, which he bought through a friend
in l^dinburgh with much judgment.

There was only one man who ever com-
plained of tlie doctor's charges, and that was
the new farmer of Milton, who was so good that
he was above both churches, and held a meet-
ing in his barn. (It was Milton the Glen sup-
posed at first to be a Mormon, but I can't go
into that now.) He offered MacLure a pound
less than he asked, and two tracts, whereupon
MacLure expressed his opinion of ^Milton, both
from a theological and social standpoint, with
such vigor and frankness that an attenti\e
audience of Drumtochty men could hardly
contain themselves.

Ml ij ,1

A (IKNKKAI- I'ltACTlTIONER

Jamie Soutar was sellini; his pi<^^ at the time,
and missed the meetii^L:^, but he hastened to
condole with Milton, who was complaining
everywhere of the doctor's language.

" Ye did richt tae resist him ; it "ill maybe

th
ith

roosc the Glen tae mak a stand ; he fair hands
them in bondatje.

" Thirty shillings for twal veesits, and him
no mair than seeven mile awa, an' a'm telt
there werena mair than four at nicht.

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

" Yc 'ill hac the sympathy o' tlic Glen, for
a' body kens yir as free \vi' yir siller as yir
tracts.

" Wes't ' Beware o' gudc warks' ye offered
him ? Man, ye choose it weel, for he's been
colleckin' sae mony thae forty years, a'm feared
for him.

" A've often thocht oor doctor's little better
than the Gude Samaritan, an' the Pharisees
didna think mucklc o' his chance aithcr in this
warld or that which is tae come."

lil

THROUGH THE FLOOD.

i; (

i ^f

i/^ 1 TpnpiiQr

OCTOR MacLURK did not
lead a solemn procession
from the sick bed to the tlinin^r-
room, and give his opinion from
the hearthrug with an air of
wisdom bordering on the super-
natural, because neither the Drumtochty
houses nor his manners were on that large
scale. He was accustomed to deliver himself
in the yard, and to conclude his directions
with one foot in the stirrup ; but when he left

^! ..IS

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

the room where the life of Annie Mitchell was
ebbing slowly away, our doctor said not one
word, and at the sight of his face her hus-
band's heart was troubled.

He was a dull man, Tammas, who could
not read the meaning of a sign, and labored
under a perpetual disability of speech ; bur
love was eyes to hmi that day, and a mouth.

" Is't as bad as yir lookin', doctor ? tell's
the truth ; wull Annie no come through ? "
and Tammas looked MacLure straight in the
face, who never flinched his duty or said
smooth things.

" A' vvud gie onything tae say Annie hes a
chance, but a' daurna ; a' doot yir gacin' tae
lose her, Tammas."

MacLure was in the iddle, and as he gave
his judgment, he laid his hand on Tammas's
shoulder with one of the rare caresses that
pass between men,

" It's a sair business, but ye 'ill play the

It ^i|i!i

I it iiiiii

a' DOUT YIK OAKIn'TAE lose liliK, lAMMASl'

.■ "W

SKIIffj II I

ill

j ^ -ii

Hi I

THROUGH THE FLOOD

man and no vex Annie ; she 'ill dac her best,
a'll uarrant."

"An* a'll dac mine," and Tammas gave
MacLure's hand a grip that would have
crushed the bones of a weakling. Drum-
tochty felt in such moments the brotherliness
of this rough-looking man, and loved him.

Tammas hid his face in Jess's mane, who
looked round with sorrow in her beautifdl
eyes, for she had seen many tragedies, and in
this silent sympathy the stricken man drank
his cup, drop by drop.

"A' wesna preparec' for this, for a' aye
thocht she wud live the langest. . . . She's
younger than me by ten years, and never wes
ill. . . . We've been mairit twal year laist
Martinmas, but it's juist like a year the day
... A' wes never worthy o' her, the bon- .
niest, snoddest (neatcot), kindliest lass in the
Glen. ... A' never cud mak oot hoc she
ever lookit at me, 'at hesna hed ae word tae

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

iiiliiiiiiii

i!i

say aboot her till it's owcr late. . . . She
didna cuist up tac mc that a' wcsna worthy o'
her, no her, but aye she said, ' Yir ma ain
gudenian, and nane cud be kinder tae me.'
. . . An' a' wes minded tae be kind, but a'
see noo mony little trokes a' micht hae dune
for her, and noo the time is bye. . . . Nae-
body kens hoo patient she wes wi' me, and
aye made the best o 'mc, an' never pit me
tae shame afore the fouk. . . . An' we never
hed ae cross word, no ane in twal year. . . .
We were mair nor man and wife, we were
sweethearts a' the time. . . , Oh, ma bonnie
lass, what 'ill the bairnies an' me dae withoot
ye, Annie? "

The winter nij^ht was falling fast, the snow
lay deep upon the ground, and the merciless
north wind moaned throu<^h the close as
Tammas wrestled with his sorrow dry-eyed,
for tears were denied Drumtochty men.
Neither the doctor nor Jess moved hand or

■| l!l;illi

-y^^s. ..^

THE BONNIKST, SNODDEST, KINDLIEST
LASS IN THE GLEN "

lUiliilii

THROUGH THE FLUOD

fodt, but their hearts were with their fellow
creature, and at length the doctor made a
sign to Marget Mowe, who had come out in
search of Tanimas, and now stood by his
side.

" Dinna mourn tae the brakin' o' yir hert,
Tanimas," she said," as if Annie an' you hed

never luved. Neither death nor time can
pairt them that luve ; there's naethin' in a' the
warld sae strong as luve. If Annie gaes frae
the sichot ' yir een she 'ill come the nearer tae
yir hert. She wants tae see ye, and tae hear
ye say that ye 'ill never forget her nicht nor
day till ye meet in the land where there's nae

Hill!

lai'

(in

^i'iiM;||'

ilpl

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

pairtin'. Oh, a' ken what a'm saying', for it's
five year noo sin George gied awa, an' he's
mair wi' me noo than when he wes in Kdin-
boro' and I was in Drumtochty."

" Thank ye kindly, Marget ; thae are gude

^\\ y^ii/it^^.

'-^if-

words and true, an' ye hev the richt tae say
them ; but a' canna dac without seein' Annie
comin' tae meet mc in tlie gloamin', an' gaein*
in an' oot the hoose, an' hearin' iiet ca' me by

it's
c's
n-

:le

%■

TIIKOUGH THE FLOOD

ma name, an' a'll no can tell her diat a' luve
her wlien there's nae Annie in the lioose.

" Can naethin* be dune, doctor ? Ye ;,v,;
Flora Cammil, and young Bur.ibrae, an' y^v
shepherd's wife Dunleitii wy, an' we Mere a
sae prood o' ye, an' pleased tae think that > e
hed keepit deith frae anither hame. Can ye
no tln-nk o' somethin' tae help Annie, and gie
iicr back tae lier man and bairnies?" and
Tanmias searched the doctor's face in the cold,
weird light.

" There's nae pooer on lieaven or airth like
luve," Marget said to me afterwards ; it maks
the weak strong and the dumb tae speak
Oor herts nere as water afore Tammas's
words, an' a' saw the doctor shake in ],is
■saddle. A' never kent till that meenut hoo he
hed a share in a'body's grief, an' carried the
heaviest wecht o' a' the Glen. A' peetied him
wi' Tammas lookin' at Iiim sae wistfully, as if
he lied the keys o' life an' deith in his hands.

: 1

iiF.

hi,

> I !

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

But he wes honest, and wudna hold oot a
false houp tae deceive a sore hert or win es-
cape for himsel'."

" Yc needna plead wi' me, Tammas, to dae
the best a' can for yir wife. Man, a' kent her
lang afore ye ever luved her ; a' brocht her
intae the warld, and a' saw her through the
fever when she wes a bit lassikie ; a' closed
her mither's een, and it was me lied tae tell
her she wes an orphan, an' nae man wes better
pleased when she got a gude husband, and a'
helpit her wi' her fower bairns. A've naither
wife nor bairns o' ma own, an' a' coont a' the
fouk o' the Glen ma family. Div ye think a'
wudna save Annie if I cud? If there wes a
man in Muirtown 'at cud dae mair for her, a'd
have him this verra nicht, but a' the doctors
in Perthshire are helpless for this tribble.

"Tammas, ma puir fallow, if it could avail,
a' tell ye a' wud lay doon this auld worn-oot
nxkle o' a body o' mine juist tae see ye baith

THROUGH THE FLOOD

sittin' at the fireside, an' the bairns roond ye,
couthy an' canty again ; but it's no tae be,
Tammas, it's no tae be."

"When a' lookit at the doctor's face," Marget
said, " a' thocht him the winsomest man a' ever
saw. He was transfigured tliat nicht, for a'm
judging there's nae transfiguration like luve."
" It's God's wull an' maun be borne, but it's
a sair wull for me, an' a'm no ungratefu' tae
you, doctor, for a' ye've dune and what ye
said the nicht," and Tammas went back to sit
with Annie for the last time.

Jess picked her vvay through the deep snow
to the main road, with a skill that came of
long experience, and the doctor held converse
with her according to his wont.

" Eh, Jess wumman, yon wes the hardest
wark a' hae tae face, and a' wud raither hae
ta'en ma chance o' anither row in a Glen
Urtach drift than tell Tammas Mitchell his
wife wes dcein'.

-ios sTTsfrniHi,' ' .'; 'a tt-J«^<imta^ ~

iiiliill;

1 :ii 'i

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

" A' said she cudna be cured, and it we.i
true, for there's juist ae man in the huid fit
for't, and they niicht as wecl try tae ^et the
niune cot o' heaven. Sae a' said naethin' tae
vex Tammas's hert, for it's heavy eneuch
withoot regrets.

" But it's hard, Jess, that money wull buy
life after a', an' if Annie wes a ducliess her
man wudna lose her ; but bein' only a puir
cottar's wife, she maun dee afore the week's
oot.

" Gin we hed him the morn there's little
doot she would be saved, for he hesna lost
mair than five per cent, o' his cases, and they
'ill be puir toon's craturs, no strappin women
like Annie.

" It's oot o' the question, Jess, sae hurry up,
lass, for we've hed a heavy day. But it wud
be the grandest thing that was ever dune in
the Glen in oor time if it could be managed
by hook or crook.

,-*^"

it's OOT o' THB gUBSTION, JKSS, SAH HURKY UP"

T^T'

. ill
i !

THROUGH THE FLOOD

" We 'ill gan^r and see Drumsheu^rh, jess ;
he's anithcr man sin' Gcordie Hoo's dcitli. and
he wes aye kinder than fouk kent;" and the
doctor passed at a ^rallop throiii,rh the village,
whose li<rhts .hone across the white frost-
bound road.

" Come in by, doctor ; a' heard >'e on the
road; >e 'ill hac been at Tammas Mitchell's;
hoo's the gudewife ? a' doot she's sober."

"Annie's deein', Drumsheugh, an' Tammas
is like tae brak his hert."

"That's no lichtsome, doctor, no lichtsome
ava, for a' dinna ken ony ipan in Drumtochty
sae bund up in his wife as Tannnas, and
there's no a bonnier wumman o' her a«>-e
crosses our kirk door than Annie, nor a clev-
erer at her wark. Man, ye 'ill need tae pit yir
brains in steep. Is she clean beyond ye ?"

" Beyond me and every ithcr in the land
but ane, and it wud cost a hundred -uineas
tae bring him tae Drumtochty."

t| ;i

1_ :ii!l

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

" Ccrtes, lie's no blate ; it's a fell chair<;c for
a short day's work ; but hundred or no hun-

dred we '11 hae him, an' no let Annie i^ang,
and her no half her years."

" Are ye meanin' it, Drumsheugh ?" and
MacLure turned white below the tan.

THROUGH THK FLooo

" William MacLure," said Drunishcu-h, in
one of the few confidences that ever broke t.'ie
Drunitochty reserve, " a'm a lonely man, ui'
naebody o' ma ain hlude tac care for' me
Hvin'. or tae lift me intae ma coffin when a'm
deid.

"A'fechtawa at Miiirtown market for an
extra pound on a beast, or a shillin' on tiie
quarter o' barley, an' wliat's the ^rude o't?
Burnbrae gaes aff tae get a goon for his wife
or a buke for his college laddie, an' LacJilan
Campbell 'ill no leave the place noo without a
ribbon for Flora.

" Ilka man in the Klldrummie train has
some bit fairin' his pooch for the fouk at
hame that he's bocht wi' the siller he won.

" But there's naebody tae be lookin' oot for
me, an' comin' doon the road tae meet me,
and daffin' (joking) wi' me about their fairing,'
or feeling ma pockets. Ou ay, a've seen it a'
at ither hooses, though they tried tae hide it

(^0

1-1
1 1

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

!lj:'l

frae mc for fear a' wud lauch at tliciii. Mc
lauch, \vi' ma caulcl, (.ini)!}^ liamc!

" Yir the only man kens, WeLliini, that I
aince luvcd the noblest wuninian in the L;len
or ony where, an' a' hive her still, but wi'
anither luve noo.

" She had ^iven her heart tac anither, or
aVe thocht a' niieht hae won her, thoiiL,di nae
man be worthy o' sic a ^ift. Ma hert turned
tae .ttcrncss, but tliat passed awa beside tlie
brier bush wiiar George I loo lay )'on sad sim-
mer time. Some day a'll tell \'e ma story,
Weelum, for you an' mc arc auld freends, and
will be till we dec."

Mac Lure felt beneath the table for Drums-
heugh's hand, but neither man looked at the
other.

" Wecl, a' we can dae noo, Weelum, <^in we
hacna mickle brichtness in oor am hames, is
tae keep the licht frae gaein' oot in anither
hoose. Write the telegram, man, and Sandy

'THB east had comb to meet the WBbT

!'^

Mil

■Mil

THROUGH THK FLOOO

'ill sciv-l itafffrac Kilclrnmmic this vcrra nicht,
and yc 'ill hac yir man the morn."

'• Yir the man a' coontcd yc, Drumshcii^di,
but yc 'ill ^r,-ant mc ac favor. Yc 'ill hit mc
pay the half, bit by bit— a' ken yir wiillin' tae
d.ic't a' — but a' hacna mony pleasures, an' a'
vvud like tac hac ma ain share in savin'
Annie's life."

Next mornin^r a fi<rurc received Sir Gcor^^e
on the Kildrummic platform, whom that
f.unous surgeon took for a gillie, but who in-
troduced himself as ♦' MacLure of Drumtoch-
ty." It seemed as if the East had come to
meet the West when these two stood together,
the one in travelling furs, handsome and dis-
tinguished, with his strong, cultured face and
carriage of authority, a characteristic type of
his profession; and the other more marvel-
lously dressed than ever, for Drumsheugh's
topcoat had been forced upon him for the
occasion, his face and neck one redness with

lli'l

IM l!

iillJli!

I ' ' I

in I

lii!

lil!

^Ihu

'III

HMi

!l I

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

the bittoi cold; rou<;h and iini^ainly, yet not
without some signs of power in his eye and
voice, the most heroic type of his noble pro-
fession. MacLure compassed the precious
arrival with observances till he was securely
seated in Drumsheujh's dog cart — a vehicle
that lent itself to history — with two full-sized
plaids added to his equipment — Drumsheugh
and Hillocks had both been requistioned —
and MacLure wrapped another plaid round a
leather case, which was placed below the scat
with such reverence as might be given to the
Queen's regalia. Peter attended their depart-
ure full of interest, and as soon as they were
in. the fir woods MacLure explained that it
would be an eventful journey.

" It's a richt in here, for the wind disna get
at the snaw, but the drifts are deep in the
Glen, and th'ill be some engineerin' afore we
get tae oor destination."

Four times they left the road and took their

THROUGH THE FLOOD

way over fields, twice they forced a passage
through a slap in a dyke, thrice they used
gaps in the paling which MacLure had made
on his downward journey.

*' A' seleckit the road this mornin', an' a'

ken the depth tae an inch ; we 'ill get through
this steadin' here tae the main road, but oor
worst job 'ill be crossin' the Tochty.

" Ye see the bridLfe lies been shaken wi'

'ill,

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iil-;:'!

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A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

this winter's flood, and we daurna venture on
it, sae we hcv tae ford, and the snaw's been
melting up Urtach way. There's nae doot
the water's gey big, and it's thrcatenin' tae
rise, but we 'ill win through wi' a warstle,

" It micht be safer tae lift the instnunents
oot (/ reach o' the water; wud }'e mind had-
din' them on yir knee till we're ower, an' keej)
firm in }'ir seat in case we come on a stanc hi
the bed o' the river."

By thi.. tim.c the)- liad coinc t(^ the edge,
and it was not a cheering sight. The Tochty
had .spread out over the meadows, and while
tiiey waited they could see it cover another
two inches on the trunk of a tree. There are
summer floods, when the water is brown and
flecked with foam, but this was a winter flood,
which is black and sullen, and runs in the
centre with a strong, fierce, silent current.
Upon the opposite side Hillocks stood to give
directions by word and hand, as the ford was

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THROUGH THR FLOOD

on liis land, and none knew the Toclity better
in all its ways.

They passed througli the shallow water
without mishap, save when the wheel struck a
hidden stone or fell suddenly into a rut ; but
when they neared the body of the river Mac-
Lure halted, to <^\vc Jess a minute's breathincr.

" It 'ill tak ye a' yir time, lass, an' a' wud
raither be on yir back ; but >'e never failed me
yet, and a wumman's life is hangin' on the
crossin'."

With the first plunge into the bed of the
stream the water rose to the axles, and then it
crept up to the shafts, so that the surgeon
could feel it lapping in about his feet, while
the dogcart began to quiver, and it seemed as
if it were to be carried away. Sir George was
as brave as most men, but he had never forded
a Highland river in flood, and the mass of
black water racing past beneath, before, be-
hind him, affected his imagination and shook

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

his nerves. He rose from his seat and ordered
MacLure to turn back, declaring that he
would be condemned utterly and eternally if
he allowed himself to be drowned for any
person.

" Sit doon," thundered MacLure ; " con-
demned ye will be suner or later gin ye shirk
yir duty, but through the water ye gang the
day."

Both men spoke much more strongly and
shortly, but this is what they intended to say,
and it was MacLure that prevailed.

Jess trailed her feet along the ground with
cunning art, and held her shoulder against the
stream ; MacLure leant forward in his seat, a
rein in each hand, .and his eyes fixed on Hil-
locks, who was now standing up to the waist
in the water, shouting directions and cheering
on horse and driver.

" Hand tae the richt, doctor ; there's a hole
yonder. Keep oot o't for ony sake. That's

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THROUGH THE FLOOD

it ; yir dacin' fine. Steady, man, steady. Yir
at the deepest; sit heavy in yir seats. Up the
channel noo, and ye '11 be oot o' the swirl.
VVeel dune, Jess, weel dune, auld mare ! Mak
straicht for me, doctor, an' a'll ^rje yc the road
oot. Ma word, >'eVe dune yir best, baith o*
ye this mornin'," cried Hillocks, splashin*,- up
to the donrcart, now in the shallows.

"Sail, it wes titch an' go for a meenut in
the middle; a Hielan' ford is a kittle (haz-
ardous) road in the snaw time, but ye're
safe noo.

'^Gude luck tae ye up at Westerton, sir;
nane but a richt-heartctl man wud hae riskit
the Tochty in flood. Ye're boond tae succeed
aifter sic a graund beginnin'," for it had spread
already that a famous surgeon had ctitm
to do his best fur Annie, Tammas Mitchell's
wife.

two hours later MacLure came out frotfl
Annie's room and laid hold of Tammas a

«3

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A IMJCTOK UV THE OLD SCHOOL

heap of speechless misery by the kitchen fire,
and carried him off to the barn, and spread
some com on the threshin^i; floor and thrust a
flail into his hands.

" Nog we've tae bcj^in, an' ue 'ill no be
dune for an' oor, and j'e've tae lay on withoot
stoi)i)in' till a' come for ye, an' a'll shut the
door tae haud in the noise, an' keep yir do^
beside ye, for there niaunna be a cheep aboot
the hoose for Annie's sake."

*' A'll dae onything ye want me, but if —
if "

"A'll come for )'e, Tammas, <^in tliere be
dan^rcr; but what arc ye feared for wi' the
Queen's ain surgeon here ? "

Fifty minutes did the flail rise and fall, save
twice, when Tammas crept to the door and
listened, the dog lifting his head and whin-
ing.

It seemed twelve hours instead of one when
the door swung back, and Mac Lure filled the

MA AI.N UEAK MAN '

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THROUGH THE FLOOD

doorway, preceded by a great burst of light,
ibr the sun had arisen on the snow.

His face was as tidings of great joy, and
Elspeth told me that there was nothing like it
to be seen that afternoon for glory, save the
sun itself in the heavens.

" A' never saw the marrow o't, Tammas, an*
a'll never see the like again ; ifs a' ower, man,
withoot a hitch frae beginnin' tae end, and
she's fa'in' asleep as fine as ye like.' '
" Dis he think Annie . . . 'ill live?"
" Of coorse he dis, and be aboot the hoose
inside a month ; that's the gud o' bein' a clean-

bluided, wcel-livin' "

" Preserve ye, man, ;\hat's wrang wi' ye ?
it's a mercy a' keppit ye, or mc wud hev hcd
anither job for Sir George.

"Ye're a richt noo; sit doon on the strae.
A'll come back in a whilie, an' ye i'll see Annie
juist for a meenut, but ye maunna say a
word."

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A DOCTOR OI'' THE OI.H SCHOOL '

Miiri^ct took him in and let him kneel by
Annie s bedside.

He said nothin<,r then or afterwards, for
speech came only once in his lifetime to Tam-
mas, but Annie whispered, " Ma ain dear
man."

When the doctor placed the precious bag
beside Sir George in our solitary first next
morning, he laid a cheque beside it and was
about to leave.

" No, no," said the great man, " IMrs. Mac-
fayden and I were on the gossip last night,
and I know the whole story about you and
your friend.

" You have some right to call me a coward,
but I'll never let you count me a mean, mis-
erly rascal," and the cheque with Drum-
sheugh's painful writing fell in fifty pieces on
the floor.

As the train began to move, a voice from
the first called so that all the station heard.

£■"5 '

I M PKOLD TO HAVE MEX YOU "

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THROUGH THE FLOOD

" Give's anotlier shake of your hand, Mac-
Lure; I'm proud to have met you; you are
ail honor to our profession. Mind the anti-
septic dressings."

It wa- market day, but only Jamie Soutar
and Hillocks had ventured down.

"Did ye hear yon, Hillocks? hoo dae ye
feel ? A'll no deny a'm lifted."

Halfway to the Junction Hillocks had re-
covered, and began to grasp the situation.

" Tcll's what he said. A' wud like to hae it
exact for Drumsheugh."

"Thae's the eedentical words, an' they're

true ; there's no a man in Drumtocht}- disna

ken that, except ane."

•'An' wha's thar, Jamie?"

"It'sWeelum MacLurehimsel. Man, a've

often girned that he sud fecht awa for us a',

and maybe dee before he kent that he hed

githered mair hive than ony man in the Glen.

'"A'm prood tae hae met ye', says Sir

A DOCTOK OF TIIK OLD SCHOOL

iyiii|;j|i||i I

Gcorrrc, an' him the greatest doctor in tlic
huul. ' Yir an honor tac oor-profession.'

"Hillocks, a' wudna hac missed it for
twenty notes," said James Soiitar, cynic-in-
ordinary to the parish of Drumtochty.

A FIGHT WITH DEATH.

WHEN Drumsheugh's grieve
was brought to tlie gates
of death by fever, caiiglit, as ^\•as
supposed, on an adventurous visit
to Glasgow, the London doctor at
Lord Kilspindie's shooting lodge looked in on
his way from the moor, and declared it impos-
sible for Saunders to live through the night.

" I give him six hours, more or less ; it is
only a question of time," said the oracle, but-

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A DUCTUK UF THE ULIJ bCIlOOL

inniiv^ liis ^rlovcs and gcttin.i,^ into the brake;
■' tell your parish doctor that I was sorry not
to liave met him."

Hell heard this verdict from behind the
door, and ^^ave way utterly, but I)rumshei:<4h
declined to accept it as final, and devoted him-
self to consolation.

" Dinna ^n-eet like that, Bell wumman, sae
lang as Saunders is still living'; a'll nevei
^Mve up houp, for ma pairt, till oor ain mini
says the word.

" A' the doctors in the land dinna ken as
muckle aboot us as Wcelum MacLurc, an' he's
ill tae beat when he's trying tae save a man's
life."

MacLurc, on his comin<T, would say noth-
in^r^ cither weal or woe, till he had examined
Saunders. Suddenly his face turned into iron
before their eyes, and he looked like one en-
countering a merciless foe. For there was a
feud between MacLure and a certain mighty

GAVE WAY UTTBKLY"

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power which had lasted for forty years in
Drumtochty.

" The London doctor said that Saunders
wild sough awa afore mornin', did he ? Weel,
he's an authority on fevers an' sic Hke diseases,
an' ought tae ken,

" It's may be presumptous o' me tae differ
frae him, and it wudna be verra rcopectfu' o'
Saunders tae Hve aifter <^his opeenion. But
Saunders wes awe thraun an' ill tae drive, an'
'■e's as like as no tae gang his own gait.

" A'm no meanin' tae reflect on sae clever a
man, but ne didna ken the seetuation. He
can read fevers like a bulk, but he never cam
across sic a thing as the Drumtochty constitu-
tion a' his days.

" Ye see, when onybody gets as low as
puii Saunders here, it's juist a hand to hand
wrastle atwcen the fever and his constitution,
an' of coorse, if he had been a shilpit, stuntit,
feckless effeegy o' a cratur, fed on tea an'

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A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

made dishes and pushioncd \vi' bad air, Saun-

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" But Saunders hes been fillin' his lunfrs for
five and thirty year wi' strong Drumtochty

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A FIGHT WITH DEATH

air, an- catin' naethin' but kirny aitnical, and
drinkin- nactliin" but fresh milk frac the coo,
an' followin' the ploo throu-h the new-turned
su'eet-smelHn' earth, an' swin-in' tlie scythe in
haytime and harvest, till the legs an' airnis o'
him were iron, an' his chest wes like the cuttin'
o' an oak tree.

"He's a waesome siclit the nicht, but Saun-
ders Aves a buirdly man r.ince, and wull never
lat his life be taken lichtly frae him. Na, na,
he hesna sinned against Nature, and Nature
'ill stand by him noo in his oor o' distress.

" A' daurna say )-ea, Bell, muckle as a'
wud like, for this is an evil disease, cunnin, an*
treacherous as the deevil himsel', but a' wimia
say nay, sae keep \'ir liert ri-ae despair.

" It wull be a sair fecht, but it 'ill be settled
one wy or anither by sax o'clock the morn's
morn. Nae man can prophecee hoo it 'ill end,
but ae thing is certain, a'll no see deith tak a
Drumtochty man afore his time if a' can heip it.

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A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

" Noo, Bell ma wumiium, yir near deid wi'
tire, an' nae wonder. Ye'vc dune a' ye cud
for yir man, an' ye '11 lippen (trust) him the
nicht tae Drumsheugh an' me ; we 'ill no fail
him or you.

" Lie doon an' rest, an' if it be the wull o'
the Almichty a'U wauken ye in the mornin'
tae see a livin' conscious man, an' if it beither-
wise a'U come for ye the suner. Bell," and the
big red hand went out to the anxious wife.
" A' gie ye ma word."

Bell leant over the bed, and at the sight of
Saunders' face a superstitious dread seized
her.

" See, doctor, the shadow of deith is on
him that never lifts. A've seen it afore, on ma
father an' mither. A' canna leave him, a'
canna leave him."

" It's hoverin'. Bell, but it hesna fallen ;
please God it never wull. Gang but and get
some sleep, for it's time we were at oor work.

I02

" BKLL LEANT OVEK THF. UKl) "

103

A FIGHT WITH DEATH

" The doctors in the toons hae nurses an' a'
kinds o' handy apparatus," said MacLurc to
Drumsheugh when Bell had ^one, " but you
an' me 'ill need tae be nurse the nicht, an' use
sic things as we hcv.

" It 'ill be a iang nicht and anxious wark,
but a' V ud raither hae ye, auld frccnd, wi' me
than ony man in the Glen. Ye're no feared
tae gie a hand ? "

"Me feared? No, Hkcly. Man, Saunders
cam tae me a haflin, and hes been on Drums-
heugh for twenty years, an' though he be a
dour chiel, he's a faithfu' servant as ever lived.
It's waesome tae see him lyin' there moanin'
like some dumb animal frae mornin' tae nicht,
an' no able tae answer his ain wife when she
speaks.

" Div ye think, Weelum, he hes a chance? "

'• That he hes, at ony rate, and it 'ill no be
your blame or mine if he hesna mair."

While he was speaking, MacLure took oft

105

ii; .fuii

111 I M

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A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

his coat and waistcoat ami hung them on the
back of tlie door. Then he rolled up the
sleeves of his shirt and laid bare two arms
that were nothing but bone and muscle.

" It gar'd ma vety blood rin faster tae the
end of ma fingers juist tae look at him,"
Drumshcugh expatiated afterwards to Hil-
locks, " for a' saw noo that there was tae be a
stand-up fecht atween him an' deith for Saun-
ders, and when a' thocht o' Bell an' her bairns,
a' kent wha wud win.

*" Aff wi' yir coat, Drumsheugh,' said Mac-
Lure; 'ye 'ill need tae bend yii' back the
nicht ; githcr a' the pails in the hoose and fill
them at the spring, an' a'll come doon tae help
ye wi' the carryin'. ' "

It was a wonderful ascent up the steep path-
way from the spring to the cottage on its little
knoll, the two men in single file, bareheaded,
silent, solemn, each with a pail of water
in either hand, MacLure limping painfully

1 06

A FIGHT WITH DEATH

in front, Drumsheugh bl

beliind; and when th

down their burden in

room, where the bit o

ture had been put to

and a large tub held

the centre, Drums-

heugh looked curi-
ously at the doctor.
"No, am no daft;
ye needna be feared ;
but yir tae get yir
first lesson in medicine the nicht, an' if we win
the battle ye can set up for yersel in the Glen.
"There's twa dangers — that Saunders'
strength fails, an' that the force o' the fever
grows; aiid we have juist twa weapons,

" Yon milk on the drawers' head an' the
bottle of whisky is tae keep up the strength,
and this cool caller water is tae keep doon the
fever.

107

Ill

A UUCT(M< OF THE OLD SCHOOL

" Wo 'ill cast oot the fever by the virtue o'
the earth an' the water."

" Div ye mean tae pit Saunders in the tub?"

" Ye liiv it noo, Drumsheugh, and that's
hoo a' need yir help."

'' Man, ilillocks," Drumsheugh used to
moral'ze, as often as he remembered that crit-
ical night, " it wes humblin' tae see hoo low
sickness can bring a pooerfu' man, an' ocht
tae keep us frac pride."

" A month .syne there wcsna a stronger man
in the Glen than Saunders, an' noo he wes
juist a bundle o' skin and bone, that naither
.saw nor heard, nor moved nor felt, that kent
naethin' that was dune tae him.

" I lillocks, a' wudna hae wished ony man
tae hev seen Saunders — for it wull never pass
frae before ma cen as long as a' live — but a'
wish a' the Glen hed stude by MacLure kneel-
in' on the floor wi' his sleeves up tae his ox-
ters and waitin' on Sumders.

loS

l!!i!llll

A I'lraiT WITH DEATH

" Yoli bi^r man wcs as pitifii' an' ^^cntlc as a
wiiniman, and when he laid the puir fallow in
his bed a^^iin, he happit him owcr as a niither
dis her bairn."

Thrice it was done, Drunisheugh ever
brin-;ing up colder water from the spring, and
twice MacLure was silent ; but after the third
time there was a gleam in his eye.

"We're haudin' oor ain ; we're no bein'
maistered, at ony rate ; mair a' canna say for
three oors.

" We 'ill no need the water again, Drums-
heugh ; gae oot and tak a breath o' air ; a'm
on gaird masel."

It was the hour before da>'break, and
Drumsheugh wandered through fields he had
trodden since childhood. The cattle lay sleep-
ing in the pastures ; their shadowy forms, with
a patch of whiteness here and there, having a
weird suggestion of death. Ke heard the
burn running over the stones ; fifty years ago

109

■I

A DOCTOR OF Tllli OLD SCHOOL

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he had made a dam that lasted till winter.
The hooting of an owl made him start ; one
had frightened him as a boy so that he ran
home to his mother — she died thirty years
ago. The smell of ripe corn filled the air ; it
would soon be cut and garnered. \ le could

sec the dim outlines of his house, all dark and
cold ; no one he loved was beneath the roof.
The lighted window in Saunders' cottage told
where a man hung between life and death, but
love was in that home. The futility of life
arose before this lonely man, and overcame

A Fir.FfT WFTFI PF.ATH

liis- heart with an indescribable sadness.
What a vanity was all human labour, what a
mystery all human life.

liut while he stood, subtle chan^^c came
over the nioht, and the air trembled round
him as if one had whispered. Drumshcuirh
lifted his head and looked eastwards. A faint
grey stole over the distant horizon, and sud-
denly a cloud reddened before his eyes. The
sun was not in sight, but was rising, and send-
ing forerunners before his face. The cattle be-
gan to .stir, a blackbird burst into song, and
before Drumsheugh crossed the threshold of
Saunders' house, the first ray of the sun had
broken on a peak of the Grampians.

MacLure left the bedside, and as the light
of the candle fell on the doctor's face, Drums-
heugh could see that it was going well with
Saunders.

" He's nae waur; an' it's half six noo; it's
ower sune tae say mair, but a'm houpin' for

III

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A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

the best. Sit doon and take a sleep, for ye're
needin' 't, Drumshcugh, an', man, }'c hae
worked for it."

As he dozed off, the last thing Drumsheugh
saw was the doctor sitting erect in his chair, a
clenched fist resting on the bed, and his eyes
already bright with the vision of victory.

He awoke with a start to find the room
flooded with the morning sunshine, and every
trace (if last night's work removed.

The doctor was bending over the bed, and
speaking to Saunders.

"It's me, Saunders, Doctor MacLure, ye
ken; dinna try tae speak or move; juist let
this drap milk slip ower — j'e 'ill be !K;edin'
yir breakfast, lad — and gang tae sleep again."

Five minutes, and Saunders had fallen into
a deep, healthy sleep, all tossing and moaning
come to an end. Then MacLure stepped
softly across the floor, picked up his coat and
waistcoat, and went out at the door.

112

A CLENCHED FIST RESTING ON THE BEd"

113

PI ii

li !

A FIGHT WITH DEATH

Drumsheugh arose and followed him with-
out a word. They passed through the little
garden, sparkling with dew, and beside the
byre, where Hawkie rattled her chain, impa-
tient for Bell's coming, and by Saunders' little
strip of corn ready for the scythe, till they
reached an open field. There they came to a
halt, and Doctor MacLure for once allowed
himself to eo.

His coat he flung east and his waistcoat west,
as far as he could hurl them, and it was plain
he would have shouted had he been a complete
mile from Saunders' room. Any less distance
was useless for the adequate expression. He
struck Drumsheugh a mighty blow that well-
nigh levelled that substanlial man in the dust
and then the doctor of Drumtochty issued his
bulletin.

"Saunders wesna tae live through the
nicht, but he's livin' this meenut, an' like to
live.

•'■4>}

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

" He's got by the warst clean and fair, and
wi' him that's as good as cure.

" It' ill be a graund waukenin' for Bell; she
'ill no be a weedow yet, nor the bairnics fath-
erless.

" Thce's nae use glowerin' at me, Drums-
heugh, for a body's daft at a time, an' a' canna
contain masel' and a'm no gaein' tae try."

Then it dawned on Drumsheuijh that the
doctor was attempting the Highland fling.

" He's 'ill made tae begin wi'," Drumshcugh
explained in the kirkyard next Sabbath,
"and ye ken he's been terrible mishannelled
by accidents, sac ye may think what like it
wes, but, as sure as deith, o' a' the Hielan
flings a* ever saw yon wes the bonniest.

" A' hevna shaken ma ain legs for thirty
years, but a' confess tae a turn masel. Ye
may lauch an' ye like, nceburs, but the thocht
o' Bell an' the news that wes waitin' her got
the better o' me."

ii6

THE DOCTOR WAS ATTEMPIING THE HIGHLAND FLING "

117

11 i I

ill I

Mil

ill

A FIGHT WITH DEATH

Drumtochty did not laugh. Drumtochty
looked as if it could have done quite other-
wise for joy.

" A' wud hae made a third gin a hed been
there," announced Hillocks, aggressively.
" Come on, Drumsheugh," said Jamie Sou-

tar, "gie's the end o't ; it wes a michty
mornin'."

" ' We're twa auld fules,' says MacLure tae
me, and he gaithers up his claithes. ' It wud
set us better tae be tellin' Bell.'

"She wes sleepin' on the top o' her bed

119

-.1Mj

Hill

ili I

•1

■1

■::;iiil

;*' .liiii'iiiii-

, j

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

wrapped in a plaid, fair worn oot wi' three
weeks' nursin' o' Saunders, but at the first
touch she was oot upon the floor.

" ' Is Saunders deein', doctor ? ' she cries.
' Ye promised tae waukcn me ; dinna tell me
it's a' ower.'

" ' There's nae deein' aboot him. Bell ; ye're
no tae lose yir man this time, sac far as a' can
see. Come ben an' jidge for yersel'.'

" Bell lookit at Saunders, and the tears of
joy fell on the bed like rain.

" * The shadow's lifted,' she said ; ' he's come
back frae the mooth o' the tomb.

" ' A' prayed last nicht that the Lord wud
leave Saunders till the laddies cud dae for
themselves, an' thae words came intae ma
mind, " Weepih' may endure for a nicht, but
joy cometh in the mornin'."

" * The Lord heard ma prayer, and joy hes
come in the mornin',' an' she gripped the doc-
tor's hand.

I20

A FIGHT WITH DKATH

'* ' Ye've been the instrument, Doctor Mac-
Lure. Ye wudna j^ic him up, and ye did what

nae ither cud for him, an' a've ma man the
day, and the bairns hae their father.*

"An' afore MacLure kent what she was

121

jiliUi

:ili|i

A DOCTOR OF THK OLD SCHOOL

dacin', Bell lifted his hand to her lips an*
kissed it."

'* Did she, though ? " cried Jamie. " VVha
wud hae thocht there wes as niuckle spunk in
Bell ? "

" MacLure, of coorse, was clean scandal-
ized," continued T)runisheuj,di, " an' pooed
awa his hand as if it lied been burned.

" Nae man can thole that kind o' fraikin*,
and a' never heard o' sic a thin«^ in the parish,
but we maun excuse liell, neeburs ; it wes an
occasion by ordinar," and Drumshcugh made
Bell's apology to Drumtochty for such an ex-
cess of feeling.

" A' see naethin' tac excuse," insisted
Jamie, who was in great fettle that Sabbath ;
" the doctor hes never been burdened wi' fees,
and a'm judgin' he coonted a wumman's grati-
tude that he saved frae wecdowhood the best
he ever got."

" A' gaed up tae the Manse last nicht," con-

laa

" I've a cold in my head, to-night"

133

A rrfJIIT WITH rJKATII

eluded Drunisheu^rh, .< and tclt tlic minister
hoo the doctor foclit audit oors for Saunders'
life, an' won, and ye never saw a man sac
carried. He walkit up and d< on tlie room a'
the time, and every other meenut he blew his
nose like a trumpet.

" ' I've a cold in my head to-niirht, Drums-
heu^di,' says he ; ' never mind me.' "

" A've hed the same mascl in sic circum-
stances ; they come on sudden," said Jamie.

" A' wa-er there 'ill be a new bit in tl.e
laist i)ra>'er the day, an' somethin' worth
hearin'."

And the fathers went into kirk in great ex-
pectation.

" We beseech Thee for such as be sick, that
Thy hand may be on them for good, and th it
Thou wouldst restore them again to health
and strength," \vas the familiar petition of every
Sabbath.

The congregation waited in a silence that

■I

IliiSiRiil

ililil

I M

_ ; \ [

i ;i

.if !

II
1'

1 !

, II

||||L,

1 |l<
1 II

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

might be heard, and were not disappointed
that morning, for tlie minister continued :

" Especially we tender Thee hearty thanks
that Thou didst spare Thy servant who was
brought down into the dust of death, and liast
given him back to his wife and children, and
unto that end didst wonderfull}' bless the skill
of him who goes out and in amongst us, the
beloved physician of this parish and adjacent
districts."

" Didna a' tell ye, neeburs ? " said Jamie, as
they stood at the kirk}'ard gate before dispers-
ing ; " there's no a man in the coonty cud hae
dune it better. 'Beloved physician,' an' his
' skill,' tae, an' bringing in * adjacent districts' ;
that's Glen Urtach ; it wcs handsome, and the
doctor earned it, ay, every word.

" It's an awfu' peety he didna hearj'on ; but
dear knows whar he is the day, maist likely
up "

Jamie stopped suddenly at the sound of a

126

A FIGHT WITH DEATH

horse's feet, and there, cominr; clown the
avenue of beech trees that made a lon^ij vista
from the kirk gate, tliey saw the doctor and
Jess.

One thought flaslied through tlie mind- of
the fathers of the conmionwealth.

It ought to be done as he passed, and it
would be done if it were not Sabbath. Of
course it was out of the question on Sabbath.

The doctor is now distinctly visible, riding
after his fashion.

There was never such a chance, if it were
only Saturda}-; and each man reads liis own
regret in his neighbor's face.

The doctor is nearing them rapidly; they
can imagine the shepherd's tartan.

Sabbath or no Sabbath, the Glen cannot let
him pass without some tribute of thoir pride.

Jess had recognized friends, and the doctor
is drawinir I'cin.

•' It hes tae be dune," said Jamie desper-

127

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

ately, " say what ye like." Then they all
looked towards him, and Jamie led.

" Hurrah," swinging his Sabbath hat in the

r^_^\ ^^:v,. .

air, " hurrah," and once more, " hurrah,"
Whinnie Knowe, Drumsheugh, and Hillocks

- m--

1r :t.

■

A FIGHT WITH DEATH

joining lustily, but Tammas Mitchell carrying
all before him, for he had found at last an
expression for his feelings that rendered speech
unnecessary.

It was a solitary experience for horse and
rider, and Jess bolted without delay. But the
sound followed and surrounded them, and as
they passed the corner of the kirkyard, a figure
waved his college cap over the wall rnd gave
a cheer on his own account.

" God bless you, doctor, and well done."
" If it isna the minister," cried Drumsheugh,
" in his goon an' bans ; tae think o' that; but
a' respeck him for it."

Then Drumtochty became self-conscious,
and went home in confusion of face and un-
broken silence, except Jamie Soutar, who
faced his neighbors at the parting of the ways
without shame.

" A' wud dae it a' ower again if a' hed the
chance ; he got naethin' but his due."

129

:nilll!i

:!• 'I

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

lii

It was two miles before Jess composed her
mind, and the doctor and she could discuss it
quietly together.

"A' can harciy believe ma ears, Jess, an'
the Sabbath tae ; their verra jidgment hes
gane frae the fouk o' Drumtochty.

" They've heard about Saunders, a'm think-
in', vvumman, and they're pleased we brocht
him roond; he's fairly on the mend, ye ken,
noo.

" A' never expeckit the like o' this, though,
and it wes juist a wee thingie mair than a' cud
hae stude.

" Ye hcv yir share in't tae, lass ; we've hed
mony a hard nicht and day thcgither, an' yon
wes oor reward. No mony men in this warld
'ill ever get a better, for it cam frae the hert o'
honest fouk."

130

ler
it

in'

les

>k-
:ht
m,

THE DOCTOR'S LAST JOURNEY.

ed
on
•Id
o'

MH '!«

^RUMTOCHTY had a vivid
recollection of the winter
when Dr. MacLure was laid up
for two months with a broken
leg, and the Glen was depend-
ent on the dubious ministrations of the
Kildrummie doctor. Mrs. Macfayden also
pretended to recall a " whup " of some kind
or other he had in the fifties, but this was con-
sidered to be rather a pyrotechnic display of

^33

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

Elspeth's superior memory than a serious
statement of fact. MacLurc could not have
ridden through the snow of forty winters with-
out suffering, yet no one ever heard him com-
plain, and he never pled illness to any mes-
senger by night or day.

"It took me," said Jamie Soutar to Milton
afterwards, "the feck o' ten mccnuts tac howk
him an' Jess oot ae snawy nicht when Drums
turned bad sudden, and if he didna try to ex-
cuse himself for no hearing me at aince wi'
some story aboot juist comin' in frae Glen Ur-
tach, and no bein' in his bed for the laist twa
nichts.

" He wes that carefu' o' himsel an' lazy
that if it hedna been for the siller, a've often
thocht, Milton, he wud never hae dune a
handstroke o' wark in the Glen.

" What scunnered me wes the wy the bairns
were ta'en in wi' him. Man, a've seen him
tak a wee laddie on his knee that his ain

134

THE DOCTORS LAST JOURNEY

mithcr cudna quiet, an' lilt ' Sin^ a song o' sax-
pence ' till the bit mannie would be lauchin'
like a gude ane, an' pooin' the doctor's beard.

" As for the weemen, he fair cuist a glamour
ower them; they're daein' naethin' noo but
speak aboot this body and the ither he cured»

135

.. .1

'^1

A DOCTOR OF Tilli OLD SCHOOL

an' hoo he aye lied a coutliy word for sick
fouk. Weemcii hac nae discernmctit, Milton ;
tae hear them speak )'e vvud think MacLure
hed been a relee^ious man like yersel, al-
thouj^h, as ye said, he wes little mair than a
Gallio.

" Bell Baxter was haverin' awa in the shop
tae sic an extent aboot the wy MacLure
brocht roond Saunders when he hed the fever
that a' gied oot at the door, a' wes that dis-
gusted, an' a'm telt when Tamnias Mitchell
heard the news in the smiddy he wes juist on
the greeting.

" The smith said that he wes thinkin' o'
Annie's tribble, but ony wy a' ca' it rael bairnly.
It's no like Drumtochty ; ye' re setting an
example, Milton, wi' yir composure. But a'
mind ye took the doctor's meesure as sune as
ye cam intae the pairish."

It is the penalty of a ,cynic that he must
have some relief for his secret grief, and Mil-

136

THE DOCTORS LAST JOURNKY

ton began to weary of life in Jamie's hands
ciurin<r those days.

Drumtochty was not observant in the mat-
ter of health, but they had grown sensitive
about Dr. Mac Lure, and remarked in the
kirkyard all summer that he was failing.

" He wes aye spare," said Hillocks, '• an'
he's been sair twisted for the laist twenty year,
but a' never mind him booed till the year.
An' he's gacin' intae sma' buke (bulk), an' a'
dinna like that, neeburs.

" The Glen wudna dae weel withoot Wee-
lum MacLure, an' he's no as young as he
wes. Man, Drumsheugh, ye micht wile liim
aff tae the saut water atween the neeps and the
hairst. He's been workin' forty year for a
holiday, an' it's aboot due."

Drumsheugh was full of tact, and met Mac-
Lure quite by accident on the road.

" Saunders 'II no need me till the shearing
begins," he explained to the doctor, " an' a'm

137

A DUCTUK OF TIIK Ol.l) SCHOOL

gacin' tac Broclity for a turn o' the hot baths ;
they're fine for the rheumatics.

" WuU ye no come \vi' me for aukl lang

"'"'-S^-'^:'',

syne ? it's lonesome for a solitary man, an' it
wud ciae ye gude."

" Na, na, Drumshetigh," said MacLure, who

138

THE doctor's LA^JT JOURNEY

understood perfectly, " aVe dune a' thae years
withoot a break, an' a'jn laith (unwilling) tae
be takin' holidays at the tail end.

" A'll no be mony months wi' ye a' thegither
noo, an' a'm wanting tae spend a' the time a»
hev in the Glen. Ye see yersel that a'll sune
be getting ma lang rest, an' a'll no deny that
a'm wearyin' for it."

As autumn passed into winter, the Glen no-
ticed that the dor' .r's hair had turned grey,
and that his manner had lost all its roughness.
A feeling of secret gratitude filled their hearts,
and they united in a conspiracy of attention.
Annie Mitchell knitted a huge comforter in red
and white, which the doctor wore in misery
for one whole day, out of respect for Annie, and
then hung it in his sitting-room as a wall orna-
ment. Hillocks used to intercept him with
hot drinks, and one drifting day compelled
him to shelter till the storm abated. Flora
Campbell brought a wonderful compound of

139

A DOCTOR or THE OLD SCHOOL

honey and whiskey, much tasted in Auchin-
daiToch, for his coul;1l and the niotiier of
young Ikirnbrae filled his cupboard with black
jam, as a healing measure. Jamie Soutar
seemed to have an endless series of jobs in the
doctor's direction, and looked in"juist tae rest
himsel " in the kitchen.

MacLure had been slowl)' taking in the sit-
uation, and at last he unburdened himself one
night to Jamie.

" What ails the fouk, think ye? for they're
aye lecturin' me noo tie tak care o' the weet
and tae wrap masel up, an' there's no a week
but they're sendin' bit presents tae the house,
till a'm fair ashamed."

** Oo, a'U explain that in a mcenut.

an-

swered Jamie, "for a' ken the Glen week Ve
see they're juist tryin' the Scripture plan o'
heai)in' coals o' fuc on }er he.ad.

"Here ye've been negleckin' the fouk in
seeckness an' lettin' them dec afore their

140

^>Jr M,. i

" 1U1.U U»UM3llUUU>l IIIAT niH UUCTOK WAS NOV ABLK TO K1S>'

141

■'*

THE DOCTORS LAST JOURNEY

freends' eyes withoot a fccht, an' refusin' tae
gang tae a puir wumnian in her tribble, an'
frichtcnin' the bairns — no, a'm no dune — and
scourgin' us wi' fees, and livin' yersel' on the
fat o' the land.

" YeVe been carryin' on this trade ever sin
yir father dee'd, and the Glen didna notis.
But ma word, they've fund ye oot at laist, an'
they're gaein' tae mak ye suffer for a' yir ill
usage, Div ye understand noo ?" said Jamie,
savagely.

For a while MacLure was silent, and then
he only said :

"It's little a' did for the puir bodies; but
ye hev a gude hert, Jamie, a rael good hert."

It was a bitter December Sabbath, and the
fathers were settling the affairs of the parish
ankle deep in snow, when MacLure's old
housekeeper told Drumsheugh that the doctor
was not able to rise, and wished to see him in
the afternoon,

143

:i il

Ii!l

i
[

A DOCTOR O^' THK OLD SCHOOL

" Ay, ay," said Hillocks, shaking his head,
and that day Drumshciigh omitted four
pews with the ladle, while Jamie was so
vicious on the way home that none could
endure him.

Janet had lit a fire in the unused grate, and
hung a plaid by the window to break the
power of the cruel north wind, but the bare
room with its half-a-dozen bits of furniture
and a worn strip of carpet, and the outlook
upon the snow drifted up to the second pane
of the w indow and the black firs laden with
their icy burden, sent a chill to Drumsheugh's
heart.

The doctor had weakened sadly, and could
hardly lift his head, but his face lit up at the
sight of his visitor, and the big hand, which
was now quite refined in its whiteness, came
out from the bed-clothes with the old warm
grip.

" Come in by, man, and sit doon ; it's an

144

uMk.

11 !

A«1RI

'•4»ili||l!'''

iliii

WITH THE OLD WAKM GKIP"

:■'*

145

! ';'■■! I

i ,". !•■

THE doctor's last jOirRNKY

awfu' day tae brin^r ye sae far, but a' kcnt >e
wudna grudj^^c the trai\cl.

" A' wcsna sure till last nicht, an' then a'
felt it wudna be lan<,^ an' a' took a wearj-in'
this mornin' tac see ye.

" We've been friends sin' we were laddies at
the auld school in the firs, an' a' wud like ye
tae be wi' me at the end. Ye 'ill stay the
nicht, Paitrick, for auld lang s>'ne."

Drumshcu<^di was much shaken, and the
sound of the Christian name, which he had
not heard since his mother's death, gave him
a " grue " (shiver), as if one had spoken from
the other world.

" It's maist awfu' tae hear ye speakin' aboot
dcein', Weelum; a' canna bear it. We "ill
hae the Muirtown doctor up, an' ye 'ill be
aboot again in nae time.

"Ye hevna ony sair tribble; ye're juist
trachled wi' hard wark an' needin' a rest.
Dinna say ye're gaein' tae leave us, Weelum ;

A DOC 1 OK OF THE OLD SCHOOL

wc canna ('ac u itlioot )'c in Driinitoclity ; "
and Drumshciigh looked wistfully for some
word of hope.

" Na, na, Paitrick, nacthin' can be dune, an'
it's ower late tae send for ony doctor. There'.s
a knock that canna be mista'cn, an' a' heard it
last night. A've focht deith for ithcr fouk
mair than fort)' >-ear, but ma ain time lies
come at laist.

*' A've nae tribble worth mentionin' — a bit
titch o' bronchitis — an' a've hed a graund con-
stitution ; but a'm fair worn oot, Paitrick ;
that's ma complaint, an' its past curin'."

Drumsheugh went over to the fireplace,
and for a while did nothing but break up the
smouldering peats, whose smoke powerfully
affected his no.se and eyes.

" When ye're ready, Paitrick, there's twa or
three little trokes a' wud like ye tae look
aifter, an' a'll tell )'e aboot them as lang's ma
liead's clear.

148

■■■■ip

--■"'^.

UKUMSHEUUH LOOKKU WISTFULLY

149

I !

■^

mmmmm.

rUK doctor's I.A.ST JorKXKV

" A' (liiln.-i keep bulks, as ye ken. f,,r a' aye
I'ccI a |4iii(l memory, so naebotly 'ill h^ har-
ried for money aifter ma deitli, and yc 'ill luie
nae accoonts tae collect,

" But the fouk are lu )nest in I)rumN)clU\-,
and they 'ill be offerin' ye siller, an' a'll nj^ yj
ma mind aboot it. Gin it be a p.iir body, tell
licr tae keep it and -et a bit plaidie ui' the
nion(y,and slie 'ill maybe think o' her auld
doctor at a time. Gin it be a bicn (uell-to-
do) man, tak half of what he offers, f,,,- a
Drumtochty man uud scorn to be mean in sic
circumstances; and if onybody needs a doctor
an' canna pay for him, see he's no left tae dec
when a'm oot o' the road."

" Nae fear o' that as lan<,r as a'm livin', Wee-
lum; that hundred's still tae the fore, ye ken,
an' a'll tak care it's weel spent.

" Yon wes the best job we ever did the^nth-
er. an' dookin' Saunders, ye 'ill no foroet that
nicht, Weelum "—a gleam came into the doc-

151

A DUCTUK UF Till-: OLD SCIIUDI.

tor's eyes — " tac say ncatliiii' o' the lIiL;lilair

Tlic icnicinbrancc of that ^Tcat victory came
upon l)riinisheu|^h, and tried liis fortitude.

" Wliat 'ill become o's w hen ye're no here
tac ^ne a hand in time o' need? we "ill tak ill
\vi' a stranger that disna ken ane o's frae an-
ither."

" It's a' for tile best, I'aitrick, an' ye 'ill see
that in a whilie. A've kent fine tliat ma day
wes owcr, an' that yc sud hae a youn<jer man.

*' A' did wiiat a' cud tae keep up wi' the
new medicine, but a' bed little time for readin',
an' nane for traivellin'.

" A'm t': • last o' the auld schule, an' a' ken
as weel as onybody thct a' wcsna sac dainty
an' fine-mannered as the town doctors. Ye
took mc as a' wes, an' naebody ever cuist u[)
tae me that a' wes a plain man. Na, na ; ye've
been rael kintl an' consecdcrate a' thae years."

" Wcclum, gin )'e cairry on sic nonsense ony

^52

IIIK DUCruK's LAST JOUKNi:\'

huij^cr," intcmiptcd Driimsliciinli, huskily, "a'U
leave the hoose ; a' camia stand it."

" It's tlie trutli, I'aitrick-, but \vc 'ill ^^ac on
\vi' our wark, far a'ni failin' fast.

" Gic Janet ony sticks of furniture she necils
tae fiunisli a hoose, and .sell a' thin^^ else tae
pay the wricht (undertaker) an' bedrel (i^rave-
di«,r<rer). If the new doctor be a >-oun5^r laddie
and no verra rich, ye niicht let him hae the
buiks an' instruments; it 'ill aye be a help.

"But a' wudna like ye tae sell Jess, for
she's been a faithfu' servant, an' a freentl tae.
There's a note or twa in that drawer a' savit,
an' if ye kent ony man that wud [,ne her a bite
o' grass and a sta' in his .stable till she followed
her maister — '

" Confoond ye, Weelum," broke out Drums-
heugh; "its doonricht cruel o' ye to speak
like this tae me. Whar wud Jess gang but
tae Drumsheugh ? she 'ill hae her run o' heck
an' manger sae lang as she lives; the Glen

153

A DOCTOR OF TIIK OI,n SCHOOL

ill!!

^IM

wudna like tao sec anither man on Jess, and
nac man 'ill ever touch the auk! mare."

1^^^^^ "^

A^v,\^V^rf

^ mmk. mW'^

■\^^':n^

" Dinna mintl me, Paitrick, for a' expeckit
this ; but ye ken we're no verra gleg \vi' oor

154

THE DOCrOKS LAST JOUKNEV

tc)n^i,Hics in Drunitochty, an' dinna tell a' tliat's
in ooi hearts.

" Weel, that's a' that a' mind, an' the rest a'
leave tae >erser. A'vc neither kitli nor kin
tae bury nie, sae you an' tlic neeburs 'ill need
tae lat nie doon ; but ^in Tamnias Miteheli or
Saunders be stannin' near and lookin' as if
they wud like a cord, oic't tae them, ]\iitrick.
Tliey're baitli dour chiels, and iiaena muckle
tae say, but Tammas hes a L,n-auntl hert. and
there's waur fouk in the Glen than Saunders.

" Am o-ettin' drowsy, an' a'll no be able tae
follow ye sune, a' doot ; wud ye read a bit tae
me afore a' fa' ower?

" Ve 'ill find ma mither's liible on the
drawers' heid, but ye 'ill need tae come close
tae 'the l)ed, for a'm no hearin' or seein' sae
weel as a" wes when ye cam."

Drumsheuoh put on his spectacles and
searched for a comfortable Scri[)ture, while the
ii^dit of the lamp fell on his shakino- hands and

155

A DOCTOR OF TIIK OLD SCHOOL

the doctor's face where the shadow was now
settHng.

" Ma mither aye wantit this read tae her
when she wes sober "(weak), and Drumsheugh

mmru[^w:^^mr''A mi^NCR.-

began, " In My Father's house are many man-
sions," but MacLure stopped him.

" It's p. bonnie word, an' yir mitlier wes a
sanct; but it's no for the Hkc o' me. It's ower
gude; a' liaurna tak it.

*' Shut the buik an' let it o[)en itsel, an' ye

ill i

THE doctor's last journkv

'ill get a bit a've been rcadin' every nicht the
laist month."

Then Drumsheugh found the Parable where-
in the Master tells us what God thinks of a
Pharisee and of a penitent sinner, till he came
to the words : " And the publican, standinir
afor off, would not lift up so much as his eyes
to heaven, but smote upon his breast, saying,
God be merciful to me a sinner."

" That micht hae been written for mc, Pait-
rick, or ony ither auld sinner that lies feen-
ished his life, an' hes naethin' tr.e say for him-
sel'.

: " It wesna easy for me tae get tae kirk, but
a' cud hae managed wi' a stretch, an' a' used
langidge a' sudna, an' a' micht hae been gen-
tler, and not been so short in the temper. A'
see't a' noo.

" It's ower late tae mend, but yc 'ill maybe
juist say to the fouk that I wes sorry, an' a'm
houpin' that the Almichty 'ill hae mercy on me.

157

A IKJCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

imli

il I

! i

I'll

*' Cud yc . . . pit up a bit prayer, Paitrick?"

" A' haena the words," said Drumsheuj^h in
great distress ; " wud ye like's tae send for the
minister ? "

" It's no the time for that noo, an' a' wud
rather hae yersel ' — juist what's in yir heart,
Paitrick : the Ahiiichty 'ill ken the lave (rest)
Himsel'."

So Drumsheugh knelt and prayed with
many pauses.

" Almichty God . . . dinna be hard on Wee-
lum MacLure, for he's no been hard wi' ony-
body in Drumtochty. ... Be kind tae him as
he's been tae us a' for forty year. . . , We're
a' sinners afore Thee. . . . P^orgive him what
he's dune wrang, an' dinna cuist it up tae him.
. . . Mind the fouk he's helpit . . . the wee-
men an' bairnies . . . an' gie him a welcome
hame, for he's sair nccdin't after a' his wark.
. . . Amen."

" Thank ye, Paitrick, and gude nicht tae )'e.

158

THE Doctor's last jcu'knky

Ma ain true frcend, gic's yir hand, for a'll
maybe no ken ye ai^ain.

" Noo a'll say ma mither's prayer and hae
a sleep, but ye 'ill no leave me till a' is ower."

Then he repeated as he had done every
night of his life :

" This night I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
And if I die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take."

He was sleeping quietly when the wind
drove the snow against the window with a
sudden " swish ; " and he instantly awoke, so
to say, in his sleep. Some one needed him.

"Are ye frae Glen Urtach ? " and an un-
heard voice seemed to have answered him.

"Worse is she, an' suffering awfu'; that's
no lichtsome ; ye did richt tae come.

" The front door's drifted up ; gang roond
tae the back, an' ye 'ill get intae the kitchen ;
a'll be ready in a meenut.

159

8 t

A DOCTOR Ol' TIIK OLD SCHOOL

'* Gic's a hand wi' the lantern when a'ni
saidling Jess, an' ye needna come on
till daylicht; a' ken the road."

Then he was away in his sleep on some
errand of mercy, and struggling through the
storm.

l6o

THE doctor's last JOURNEY

" It's a coorsc nicht, Jess, an' heavy trai\'el-
lin' ; can ye see afore ye, lass ? for a'm clean
confused wi' the snaw ; bide a wee till a' find
the diveesion o' the roads; it's aboot here
back or forrit.

" Steady, lass, steady, dinna pliuif^e ; i'ts a
drift we're in, but ye're no sinkin' ; . . . up
noo ; . . . there ye are on the road again.

" Eh, it's deep the nicht, an' hard on us
baith, but there's a puir wumnian niicht dee if
we didna warstle through; . . . that's it; ye
ken fine what a'm sayin.'

" We 'ill hae tae leave the road here, an'
tak tae the muir. Sandie 'ill no can leave the
wife alane tae meet us ; . . . feel for yersel"
lass, and keep oot o' the holes.

" Yon's the hoose black in the snaw. San-
die! man, ye frichtened us; a' didna see ye
ahint the dyke ; hoos the wife ? "

After a while he began again :

" Ye're fair dune, Jess, and so a' am masel' ;

i6i

A DOCTOR OF TIIK OLD SCHOOL

!' I

we're baith gcttin' auld, an' dinna tak sae wecl
wi' the nicht wark.

" We 'ill sunc be hamc noo ; this is the
black wood, and it's no lang aiftcr that ; we're
ready for oor beds, Jess ; . . . ay, ye like a clap
at a time ; mony a mile we've gaed hegither.

*' Yon's the licht in the kitchen window ;
nae w^onder ye're nickering (neighing) ; . . .
it's been a stiff journey ; a'm tired, lass . . .
a'm tired tae deith," and the voice died into
silence,

Drumsheugh held his friend's hand, which
now and again tightened in his, and as he
watched, a change came over the face on the
pillow beside him. The lines of weariness
disappeared, as if God's hand had passed over
it ; and peace began to gather round the
closed eyes.

The tloctor has forgotten the toil of later
years, and has gone back to his boyhood.

" The Lord's my Shepherd, I'll not want,"
162

(* ^,. ..1

she's CARRYIN' a LILHT in lilCU llANU'

163

I i

llll

THE doctor's last JOURNEY

he repeated, till he ranic to the last verse, and
then he iiesitated.

" Goodness and mercy all my life
Shall surely follow me.

•• Follow nie . . . and . . . and . . . what's
next? Mither said I wcs tae haed ready when
she cam.

'• ' A'll come afore ye ^ran<,r tae sleep, Wullie,
but ye 'ill no get yir kiss unless ye can feenish
the psalm.'

" And ... in God's house . . . for ever-
more my . . . hoo dis it rin ? a canna mind
the next word . . . my, ni}-

'• It's ower dark noo tae read it, an* mither
'ill sune be comin."

Drumsheugh, in an agony, whispered into
his ear, '" My dwelling-place,' Weelum."

" That's it, that's it a' noo ; wha said it ?

" And in (lod's house for evermore
My dwelling-place shall be.

" A'm ready noo, an' a'll get ma kiss when

165

TT-

iMii

A nocroR oi" riir; or.n school

niitlicr cutiics ; ;i' wish sIio wuJ cotnc, for am
tired an' wantiii' tac Iccp.

" Yon's her ste[) . . . an' she's canyin* a
licht in lier hand ; a' see it throiij^h tlic door.

"Mither! a' keiit )'e wudna f()i\L;et yir lad-
die for yc promised tac come, and a've feen-
ishcd ma psahn.

♦' And ill Clod's house f( r evermore
My dwelling-place shall be.

" Gie me the kiss, mither, for a've been wait-
in' for ye, an' a'll sune be aslee[)."

The grey morning Hght fell on Drums-
hcugh, still holding his friend's cold hand, and
staring at a hearth where the fire had died
down into white ashes ; but the peace on the
doctor's face was of one who rested from his
labours.

1 66

3*. . r*

mmmmm

THE MOL'RXING UJ-' TIIIC GLI-IN.

!■'■ r'ii'

^Ur^NING

^V;^

^R. MacLURE was buried
duritiiT the grc it snow-
storm \\\vx\\ is still spoken of,
and will remain the standard of
snowfall in Drumtochty for the
century. The snow v.as deep on the Mon-
day, and the men that gave notice of his
funeral had hard work to reach the doc-
tor's distant patients. On Tuesday mornin"-
it began to fall again in heavy, fleecy flakes,

l6y

Ililiii

lii^i:i:i:i

ill!

A DOCTOR OF TIIK OLD SCHOOL

iiiid continued till Thursday, and then on
Thursday the north wind rose and swept the
snow into the hollows of the roads that went
to the upland farms, and built it into a huge
bank at the mouth of Glen Urtach, and laid it
across our main roads in drifts of every size
and the most lovely shapes, and filled up crev-
ices in the hills to the depth of fifty feet.

On Friday morning the wind had sunk to
passing gusts that powdered your coat with
white, and die sun was shining on one of
those winter Inndscapes no townsman can im-
agine and no countrj-man ever forgets. The
Glen, Irom end to end and side to side, was
clothed in a glistering mantle white as no fuller
on earth could white it, that flung its skirts
over the clumps of trees and scattered farm-
houses, and was only divided where the
Tochty ran with black, swollen stream. The
rreat moor rose and fell in swelling billows of
snow that arched themselves over the burns,

170

'Ml >l 1

1 .
1 ■ I

! .

THE MOURNING OF THE GLEN

n>"ning deep in the mossy ground, and hid
the black peat bogs with a thin, treacherous

crust. Beyond, the liilLs nortliwards and uest-
wards stood lugl, i„ ,vhite majesty, save where
the black crags of Glen Urtach broke the line

A DOCTOR OK THE OLD SCHO(JL

' ■' .'iiii

and, above our lower Grampians, we caught
glimpses of the distant peaks that lifted their
heads in holiness unto God.

It seemed to me a fitting day for William
MacLure's funeral, rather than summer time,
with its flowers and golden corn. He had not
been a soft man, nor had he lived an easy life,
and now lie was to be laid to rest amid the
austere majesty of winter, yet in the shining
of the sun. Jamie Soutar, with whom I toiled
across the Glen, did ■ . .nink with me, but
was gravely concerned.

" Nae doot it's a graund sicht; the like o't
is no gien tae us twice in a generation, an' nae
king wcs ever carried tae his tomb in sic a
cathedral.

" But it's the fouk a'm conseederin', an' hoo
they'll win through ; it's hard eneuch for them
'at's on the road, an' it's clean impossible for
the lave.

" The)' 'ill dae their best, every man o' them,

172

I i

=::..v_

lull. ID .\( KOSS nil; (.LKn"

173

THE MOL'RNIXG OF THE GLEN

ye may depend on that, an' lied it been open
weather there wudna hev been six able-bodied
men missin'.

"A' wes mad at them, because they never
said onythinj^r when lie wes leeviii', but they
felt for a' that what he hed dune, an', a' think,
he kent it afore he deed.

" He hed juist ae faut, tae ma thinkin', for a'
never jid[,red the waur o' him for his titch of
rochness— guid trees hae ^rnarled bark— but
he thotched ower little o' liimsel'.

" Noo, gin a' hed asked him hoo mony f(;uk
vvud come tae iiis bcerial, he wud hae said
'They 'ill be Drumshciiol, ^m' yersel', an' may
be twa or three neeburs besides the minister,'
an' the fact is that nae man in oor time wud
hae sic a githerin if it wcrena for the storm.

" Ye see," said Jamie, who had been c//«^
in<( lieads all mornini^, " there's six hcpherd^i
in Glen Urtaeh —they're shut uj^ fast, an' there
micht hae been a gude lialf dhcn frae Z^u^-

'75

III '.

iiiil

■tl

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

Icith wy, an' a'ni tcit tlicrc's nac road; an*

yy^ ^-S./fc-,

there's the hcich
Glen, nae man
cud c r o s s t h e
muir the day, an'
it's auclit un'le
ro u n d ; " an <1
Jamie proceeded to re\ie\v the Glen in every
detail of a*ge, driftiness of road and strength of

176

I ■

"•i-V„,,

'ANE OF THEM GlED OWEH THH: HEAD IN A DRIFT, AND HIS NEEBUKS
HAD TAE I'U' HIM c JT,'

177

la^SHi

llljtilif

TMK MOURNING OF TMK GLEN

bod)', till \vc arrived at the doctor's cottage,

when he had settled on a reduction of fifty

through stress of weather.

Drumslieugli was acknowledged as chief

mourner by the Glen, and received us at the
gate with a labored attempt at everyday man-
ners.

"Vc've hed heavy traivellin', a' doot, an'
ye 'ill be cauld. It's hard weather for the
sheep an' a'm thinkin" this ill be a feeding
storm.

" There w es nae use trying tae dig oot the
front door yestreen, for it v^ ,d hae been drifted
up again before niornip.g. We've cleared awa
the snow at the back for the prayer ; ye 'ill
get in at tlie kitchen door.

"There's a puckle Dunleith men "

" Wha ?" cried Jamie in an instant.

" Dunleith men," said DrumsheuMi.

" Div ye mean they're here, whar are they ?"
" Drying themsels at the fire, an' no with-

179

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A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

oot need ; anc of them gied ower the head
in a drift, and his necburs hed tae pu' him
oot.

" It took them a gude fower oors tae get
across, an' it wes cooise wark ; they likit him
weel doon tliat \vy, an', Jamie, man " — here
Drumsheugli's voice changed its note, and his
public manner disappeared — " what div ye
think o' this ? e\'ery man o' them has on his
blacks."

" It's mair than cud be expeckit " said
Jamie ; " but whar dae yon men come frae,
Drumsheugh ?"

Two men in plaids were descending the hill
behind the doctor's cottage, taking three feet
at a stride, and carrying long staffs in their
hands.

" They're Glen Urtach men, Jamie, for ane
o' them wes at Kildrummie fair wi' sheep, but
hoo they've wun doon passes me."

" It canna be, Drumsheugh," said Jamie.

i8o

|| II

" TWO MEN IK PI.AIDS WERE DESCEMDING THE HILL"

l8i

',?

t;'

ll|,J

(

i!,

THE MOURMNd UF THE GLEN

greatly excited. " Glen Urtach's stcikit up wi'
sna like a locked door.

"YcVe no surely frac the Glen, lads ?" as
the men leaped the dyke and crossed to the
back door, the snow falling from their plaids
as they walked.

" We're that an' nae mistak, but a' thocht
we wud be lickit ae place, eh, Charlie? a'm no
sae wed acquant wi' the hill on this side, an'
there wes some kittle (hazardous) drifts."

" It wes grand o' >'e tae mak the attempt,"
said Drumsheugh, " an' a'm gled ye're safe."

" He cam through as bad ^himsel' tae hclj)
ma wife," was Charlie's repl}-.

"They're three mair Urtach shepherds 'ili
come in bysune; they're frae Upper Urtach
an' we saw them fording the river ; ma certes
it took them a' their time, for it wes up tae
their waists and rinnin' like a mill lade, but
they jined hands and cam ower fine." And
the Urtach men went in to the fire.

183

' r

... . i •■

!'!i

A DOCTOR OF TIIK OLD SCHOOL

The Glen began to arri\e in twos and threes,
and Jamie, from a point of vantage at the gate,
and under an appearance of utter indifference,
checked his roll till even he was satisfied.

" Weclum MacLurc 'ill hae the becrial he
deserves in spite o' sna and drifts ; it passes a'
tae see hoo they've githered frae far an' near.

" A'm thinkin' ye can colleck them for the
minister noo, Drumsheugh. A'body's here

184

ite,
ice,

he
a'

he
:re

THE MOUKN]N(J OF THE GLEN

except tlie heich Glen, an' wc niaiina hike for
them."

" Dinna be sae sure o' that, Jamie. Yon's
terrible like them on the road, wi' Whinnie at
their head ;" and so it was, twelve in all, only
old Adam Ross absent, detained by force, be-
ing eighty-two years of age.

" It wud hae been temptin' Providence tae
cross the mutr," Whinnie explained, "and it's
a fell stap roond ; a' doot we're laist."

" See, Jamie," said Drumsheugh, as he went
to the house, " gin there be ony antern body
in sicht afore we begin ; we maun mak alloo-
ances the day wi' twa feet o' sna on the grund,
tae say naethin' o' drifts."

" There's something at the turnin', an' it's
no fouk ; it's a machine o' some kind or ither
— maybe a bread cart that's focht its wy up."

" Na, it's no that ; there's twa horses, ane
afore the ither ; if it's no a dogcairt wi' twa men
in the front ; they 'ill be comin' tae the beerial."

»8S

A DOCTOR or THE OLD SCHOOL

"What wild )'c sac, Jamie," Hillocks sug-
gesteti, " but it niicht be some o' thac Mu'r-
town doctors? they were awfu' cliiefwi' Mac-
Lure."

" It's nac Muirtow n doctors," cried Jamie,
in great exultation, " nor ony ither doctors.
A' ken thae horses, and wha's ahind tliem.
Quick, man, Hillocks, stop the fouk, and tell
Drumsheugh tae come oot, for Lord Kilspindie
hes come up frae Muirtown Castle."

Jamie himself slipped behind, and did not
wish to be seen.

" It's the respeck he's gettin' the day frae
high an' low," was Jamie's husky apology ;
" tae think o' them fetchin' their wy doon frae
Glen Urtach, and toiling roond frae the hcich
Glen, an' his Lordship driving through the
drifts a' the road frae Muirtown, juist tae hon-
our Weclum MacLure's beerial.

" It's nae ceremony the day, yc may lippen
tae it ; it's the hert brocht the fouk, an' ye

186

not

TWA UOKbUS, AiUi AloKU THIi IXllliK '

187

",iTT^

THK MOURNING ul' THE (iLEN

can sec it in their faces ; ilka man lies his ain
reason, an' he's thiiikin* on't thou^rh he's
spcakin' o' nacthin' but the storm ; he's mindin'
the clay Wcelum pued him out frac the jaws
o' death, or the nicht he savit the gude wife
in her oor o' tribble.

" That's why they pit on their blacks this
mornin' afore it wes licht, and wrastled through
the sna drifts at risk o' life. Drumtochty fouk
canna say muckle, it's an awfu' peety, and they
'ill dac their best tae show nacthin', but a' can
read it a' in their een.

" But wac's me "—and Jamie broke down
utterly behind a fir tree, so tender a thing is a
cynic's heart—" that fouk 'ill tak a man's best
wark a' his days without a word an' no dae
him honour till he dees. Oh, if they hed only
githered like this juist aince when he wes
hvin', an' lat him see he hedna laboured in
vain. His reward has come ower late".
During Jamie's vain regret, the castle trap,

189

:/,!

mr]

!*■; !

A DOCTOK OF TIIK OF. I) SCHOOL

bcarinj^ the marks of a wikl i)as.saf;c in the
siiow-covcrccl wheels, a brokei) shaft tied with
rope, a twisted lani[), ami the panting horses,
pulled ii[) between two rows of farmers, and
Drumsheu^h received his lordship with evi-
dent emotion.

" Ma lord .... we never thocht o' thi.s
. . . .an' sic a road."

" How arc you, Drumsheu^h ? and how are
you all this wintry day ? Tluit's how I'm
half an hour late; it took us four hours' stiff
work for sixteen miles, mostly in the drifts, of
course."

" It wes f^ude o' yir lordship, tac mak sic an
effort, an' the hale Glen wull be gratefu' tae
yc, for ony kindness tae him is kindness tae us."

" You make too much of it, Drumsheugh,"
and the clear, firm voice was heard of all ; " it
would have taken more than a few^ snow drifts
to keep me from showing ni)- respect to Will-
iam MacLure's memory."

190

Uli HAIJ LlilT lllb oVIiKCOAT AND WAS IN JILACK "

191

..j,itu.j.ius...ji.i,i viii'r

mmmmmmsm

X -

THF. MOURMN-r, OF TIIK GLEN

When all had gathered in a half circle be-
fore the kitchen door, Lord Kilspindie came
(Hit— every man noticed he had left his over-
coat, and was in black, like the Glen— and
took a place in the middle with DrumsheiKdi
and Burnbrae, Iiis two chief tenants, on the
rio-ht and left, and as the minister appeared
every man bared his head.

The doctor looked on the company— a hun-
dred men such as for strength and gravity you
could hardly have matched in Scotland-
standing out in picturesque relief against the
wiiite background, mul he said :

" It's a bitter day, friends, and some of >'ou
are old ; perhai)s it might be wise to cover
your heads before I begin to pray."

Lord Kilspip.die, standing erect and
gre>'-headed between the two old men,
replied:

"We tiiank you. Dr. Davidson, for your
thoughtfulness; but he endured many a storm

193

Il '

IP-'.!

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

in our service, and we are not afraid of a
few minutes' cold at his funeral."

A look flashed round the stern faces, and
was reflected from the minister, who seemed
to stand hiijher.

His praj'er, we noticed with critical appre-
ciation, was composed fir the occasion, and the
first part was a thanksgiving to God for the
life work of our doctor, wherein each clause
was a reference to his services and sacrifices.
No one moved or said Amen — it had been
strange with us — but when every man had
heard the gratitude of his dumb heart offered
to heaven, there was a great sigh.

After which the minister prayed that we
might have grace to live as this man had done
from youth to old age, not for himself, but for
others, and that we might be followed to our
grave by somewhat of " that love wherewith we
mourn this day Thy servant departed." Again
the same sigh, and the minister said Amen,

194

THE MOURNING OF THE GLEN

The " wricht " stood in the doorway without
speaking, and four stalwart men came forward.
They were tlie volunteers that would lift the
coffin and carry it for the first stage. One was
Tammas, Annie Mitchell's man; and another
was Saunders Baxter, for whose life MacLure
had his great fight with death ; and the third
was the Glen Urtacli shepherd for whose wife's
sake MacLure suFered a broken leg and three
fractured nbs in a drift; and the fourth, a
Dunleith man, had his own reasons of remem-
brance.

" He's far lichter than ye wud expeck for sae
big a man— there wesna muckle left o' him,
ye see— but the road is heavy, and a'il change
ye aifter the first half mile."

" Ye needna tribble yersel, wricht," said the
man from Glen Urtach ; "the'll be nae change
in the cairryin' the day," and Tammas was
thankful some one had saved him speaking.

Surely no funeral is like unto ti.at of a doc-

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

tor for pathos, and a peculiar sadness fell on
that company as his body was carried out who
for nearly half a century had been their help
in sickness, and had beaten back death time
after time from their door. Death after all
was victor, for the man that had saved them
had not been able to save himself.

As the coffin passed the stable door a horse
nieghed within, and every man looked at his
neighbour. It was his old mare crying to her
master.

Jamie slipped into the stable, and went up
into the stall.

" Puir lass, ye're no gaen' wi' him the day,
an' ye 'ill never see him again ; ye've hed yir
last ride thegither, an' ye were true tae the
end."

After the funeral Drumsheugh came him-
self for Jess, and took her to his farm. Saun-
ders made a bed for her with soft, dry straw,
and prepared for her supper such things as

196

■///,'■

UKAIH AMJiK ALL WAS VIC lOK '

THE MOURNING OF THIC GLEN

horses love. Jess would neither take food nor
rest, but moved uneasily in her stall, and
seemed to be waiting for some one that never
came. No man knows what a horse or a dog

understands and feels, for God hath not given
them our speech. If any footstep was heard
in the courtyard, she began to neigh, and was
always looking round as the door opened.
But nothing would tempt her to eat, and in

.■ 10

wmmmmm

A DOCTOR OF THE OF, I) SCHOOL

the night-time Drumshcugh heard her crying
as if she expected to be taken out for some
sudden journey. The Kildrummie veterinary
came to see her, and said that nothing could
be done when it happened after tiiis fashion
with an old horse.

" A've seen it aince afore," he said. "Gin
she were a Cliristian instead o' a horse, ye
micht say she wes dying o' a broken hert."

He recommended that she should be shot
to end her misery, but no man could be found
in the Glen to do the deed and Jess relieved
them of the trouble. When Drumsheugh
went to the stable on Monday morning, a
week after Dr. MacLure fell on sleep, Jess was
resting at last, but her eyes were open and her
face turned to the door.

"She wes a' the wife he hed," said Jamie,
as he rejoined the procession, " an' they luved
ane anither weel."

The black thread wound itself along the

200

THE MOURNING OF THE GLEN

whiteness of the Glen, the coffin first, with his
lordship and Drumsheugh behind, and the
others as they pleased, but in closer ranks than
usual, becau j the snow on either side was
deep, and because this was not as other funer-
als. They could see the women standing at
the door of every house on the hillside, and
weeping, for each family had some good reason
in forty years to remember MacLure. When
Bell Baxter saw Saunders alive, and the coffin
of the doctor that saved him on her man's
shoulder, she bowed her head on the dyk'e,
and the bairns in the village made such a wail
for him they loved that the men nearly dis-
graced themselves.

*' A'm gled we're through that, at ony rate,"
said Hillocks; " he wes awfu' taen up wi' the
bairns, conseederin' he hed nane o' his ain."

There was only one drift on the road be-
tween his cottage and the kirkyard,and it had
been cut early that morning,

201

A DOCTOR OF THK OIJ) SCHOOL

Before cla)bie;ik Saunders had roused the
hids in the both)', and lhe\' had set to work by
the li^t;ht of I.uiterns witli sueh j^ood will that,
when I)rumsheuL;h eanie down to engineer a
circuit for the funeral, there was a fair passage,

with walls of snow twelve feet high on cither
side.

" Man, Saunders," he said, "this wes a kind
thocht, and rael weel dune."

But Saunders' only reply wps this :

202

J I

*<^

203

■WIP

il'

THE MOL'RNING Ol- TIIK (JLEN

" Mony a time he's lied tac '^aw^ loiiiul ; lie
miclit as weel hae an open road for his last
traivel."

When the coffin was laiil down at the nioiith
of the grave, the only blackness in the white
kirkyard, Tammas Mitchell did the most beau-
tiful thing in all his life. He knelt down and
carefully wiped off the snow the wind had
blown upon the coffin, and which liad covered
the name, and when he had done this lie dis-
appeared behind the others, so that Drums-
heugh could hardly find him to take a cord.
For these were the eight that buried Dr. Mac-
Lure— Lord Kil pindie at the head as landlord
and Drumsheugh at his feet as his friend ; the
two ministers of the parish came first on tlie
right and left ; then Burnbrae and Hillocks of
the farmers, and Saunders and Tammas for the
plowmen. So the Glen he loved laid him to
rest.

When the bedrel had finished iiis work and

205

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

the turf had been spread, Lord Kilspindie
spoke :

" Friends of Drumtochty, it v.-ould not be
right that we should part in silence and no
man say what is in every heart. We have
buried the remains of one that served this
Glen with a devotion that has known no re-
serve, and a kindliness that never failed, for
more than forty years. I have seen many
brave men in my day, but no man in the
trenches of Sebastopol carried himself more
knightly than William MacLure. You will
never have heard from his lips what I may
tell you to-day, that my father secured for him
a valuable post in his younger days, and he
preferred to work among his own people ; and
I wished to do many things for him when he
was old, but he would have nothing for him-
self He will never be forgotten while one of
us lives, and I pray that all doctors every-
where may share his spirit. If it be your

206

THE MOURXIXO OF THE GLEN

pleasure, I shall erect a cross above his fT,-ave
and shall ask my old friend and compmion
Dr. Davidson, your minister, to clioose the
text to be m> ribed."

" We thank you, Lord Kilspindie," said the
doctor, " for your presence with us in our sor-
row and your tribute to the memoiy of Wil-
liam MacLure, and I choose this for his text :
Greater love hath no man than this, that
a man lay down his life for his friends.' "

Milton was, at that time, held in the bonds
of a very bitter theology, and his indignation
was stirred by this unqualified eulogium.

" No doubt Dr. MacLure hed mony natural
virtues, an' he did his wark weel, but it wes a
peety he didna mak mair profession o' rclec-
gion."

"When William MacLure appears before
the Judge, Milton," said Lachlan Campbell,
who that day spoke his last words in public,
and they were in defence of charity, "He will

207

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL

not be asking him about his professions, for
the doctor's judgment hass been ready long
ago ; and it iss a good judgment, and you and I
will be happy men if we get he like of it.

" It is written in the Gospel, but it iss Wil-
liam MacLure that will not be expecting it.'*

" What is't Lachlan ? " asked Jamie Soutar
eagerly.

The old man, now very feeble, stood in the
middle of the road, and his face, once so hard,
was softened into a winsonie tenderness.

" ' Come, ye blessed of My Father ... I
was sick and ye visited Me.' "

208

vc MATh HO y^AN TnAN ni-iij,TI1AT

^^y Down ni5 Lire roR ni^TRiCNDS.