judges 'ill be a puir lot," with a fine confusion of circumstances.

"Losh, Drumsheugh, be quiet, or ye'll dae the laddie an injury,"
said Domsie, with genuine alarm. "We maunna mention prizes, and
first is fair madness, A certificate of honour now, that will be
aboot it, may be next to the prizemen."

Coming home from market he might open his heart. "George 'ill be
amang the first sax, or my name is no Jamieson," but generally he
prophesied a moderate success. There were times when he affected
indifference, and talked cattle. We then regarded him with awe,
because this was more than mortal.

It was my luck to carry the bulletin to Domsie, and I learned what
he had been enduring. It was good manners in Drumtochty to feign
amazement at the sight of a letter, and to insist that it must be
intended for some other person. When it was finally forced upon one,
you examined the handwriting at various angles and speculated about
the writer. Some felt emboldened, after these precautions, to open
the letter, but this haste was considered indecent. When Posty
handed Drumsheugh the factor's letter, with the answer to his offer
for the farm, he only remarked, "It'll be frae the factor," and
harked back to a polled Angus bull he had seen at the show. "Sall,"
said Posty in the kirkyard with keen relish, "ye'll never flurry
Drumsheugh." Ordinary letters were read in leisurely retirement,
and, in case of urgency, answered within the week.

Domsie clutched the letter, and would have torn off the envelope.
But he could not; his hand was shaking like an aspen. He could only
look, and I read: