bankruptcy without paying for a single tuber, had been characterized
in language that left nothing to be desired, Drumsheugh began to
soften and show signs of reciprocity.

"Hoo's yir laddies, Dominie?" whom the farmers regarded as a risky
turnip crop in a stiff clay that Domsie had "to fecht awa in." "Are
ony o' them shaping weel?"

Drumsheugh had given himself away, and Domsie laid his first
parallel with a glowing account of George Howe's Latinity, which was
well received.

"Weel, I'm gled tae hear sic accoonts o' Marget Hoo's son; there's
naething in Whinnie but what the spune puts in."

But at the next move Drumsheugh scented danger and stood at guard.
"Na, na, Dominie, I see what yir aifter fine; ye mind hoo ye got
three notes oot o' me at Perth market Martinmas a year past for ane
o' yir college laddies. Five punds for four years; my word, yir no
blate (modest). And what for sud I educat Marget Hoo's bairn? If ye
kent a' ye wudna ask me; it's no reasonable, Dominie. So there's an
end o't."

Domsie was only a pedantic old parish schoolmaster, and he knew
little beyond his craft, but the spirit of the Humanists awoke
within him, and he smote with all his might, bidding goodbye to his
English as one flings away the scabbard of a sword.

"Ye think that a'm asking a great thing when I plead for a pickle
notes to give a puir laddie a college education. I tell ye, man, a'm