of tea. At a peremptory order the soaked boots and stockings were
off, and dry socks found in the kerchief bundle. Auld Jock was
used to taking orders from his superiors, and offered no
resistance to being hustled after this manner into warmth and
good cheer. Besides, who could have withstood that flood of
homely speech on which the good landlord came right down to the
old shepherd's humble level? Such warm feeling was established
that Mr. Traill quite forgot his usual caution and certain
well-known prejudices of old country bodies.

"Noo," he said cheerfully, as he set the hot broth on the table,
"ye maun juist hae a doctor."

A doctor is the last resort of the unlettered poor. The very
threat of one to the Scotch peasant of a half-century ago was a
sentence of death. Auld Jock blanched, and he shook so that he
dropped his spoon. Mr. Traill hastened to undo the mischief.

"It's no' a doctor ye'll be needing, ava, but a bit dose o'
physic an' a bed in the infirmary a day or twa."

"I wullna gang to the infairmary. It's juist for puir toon bodies
that are aye ailin' an' deein'." Fright and resentment lent the
silent old man an astonishing eloquence for the moment. "Ye wadna
gang to the infairmary yer ainsel', an' tak' charity."

"Would I no'? I would go if I so much as cut my sma' finger; and
I would let a student laddie bind it up for me."

"Weel, ye're a saft ane," said Auld Jock.