“There’s no siccan men noo as the Andersons o’ Deeside,” said Rob Adair, with a kind of pride and pleasure in his voice.  “I’m a dale aulder than you, Saunders, an’ I mind weel o’ the faither o’ him that’s gane.” (Rob had in full measure the curious South-country disinclination to speak directly of the dead.)

“Ay, an angry man he was that day in the ’43 when him that’s a cauld corp the day, left the kirk an’ manse that his faither had pitten him intil only the year afore.  For, of coorse, the lairds o’ Deeside were the pawtrons o’ the pairish; an’ when the auld laird’s yae son took it intil his head to be a minister, it was in the nature o’ things that he should get the pairish.

“Weel, the laird didna speak to his son for the better part o’ twa year; though mony a time he drave by to the Pairish Kirk when his son was haudin’ an ootdoor service at the Auld Wa’s where the three roads meet.  For nae sicht could they get on a’ Deeside for kirk or manse, because frae the Dullarg to Craig Ronald a’ belanged to the laird.  The minister sent the wife an’ bairns to a sma’ hoose in Cairn Edward, an’ lodged himsel’ amang sic o’ the farmers as werena feared for his faither’s factor.  Na, an’ speak to his son the auld man wadna, for the very dourness o’ him.  Ay, even though the minister wad say to his faither, ‘Faither, wull ye no’ speak to yer ain son?’ no’ ae word wad he answer, but pass him as though he hadna seen him, as muckle as to say—­’Nae son o’ mine!’

“But a week or twa after the minister had lost yon twa nice bairns wi’ the scarlet fever, his faither an’ him forgathered at the fishin’—­whaur he had gane, thinkin’ to jook the sair thochts that he carried aboot wi’ him, puir man.  They were baith keen fishers an’ graun’ at it.  The minister was for liftin’ his hat to his faither an’ gaun by, but the auld man stood still in the middle o’ the fit-pad wi’ a gey queer look in his face.  ‘Wattie!’ he said, an’ for ae blink the minister thocht that his faither was gaun to greet, a thing that he had never seen him do in a’ his life.  But the auld man didna greet.  ‘Wattie,’ says he to his son, ‘hae ye a huik?’

“Ay, Saunders, that was a’ he said, an’ the minister juist gied him the huik and some half-dizzen fine flees forbye, an’ the twa o’ them never said Disruption mair as lang as they leeved.

“‘Ye had better see the factor aboot pittin’ up a meetin’-hoose and a decent dwallin’, gin ye hae left kirk and manse!’ That was a’ that the auld laird ever said, as his son gaed up stream and he down.

“Ay, he’s been a sair-tried man in his time, your minister, but he’s a’ by wi’t the day,” continued Saunders M’Quhirr, as they trudged behind the hearse.

“Did I ever tell ye, Rob, aboot seem’ young Walter—­his boy that gaed wrang, ye ken—­when I was up in London the year afore last?  Na?  ’Deed, I telled naebody binna the mistress.  It was nae guid story to tell on Deeside!