I trust in God I’m no’ mista’en—­ye come o’ the richt breed for the min’ as weel.  I’m no flatterin’ ye, Mr. Sutherlan’; but jist layin’ it upo’ ye, ’at gin ye had an honest father and gran’father, an’ especially a guid mither, ye hae a heap to answer for; an’ ye ought never to be hard upo’ them ‘at’s sma’ creepin’ creatures, for they canna help it sae weel as the like o’ you and me can.”

David was not given to boasting.  Hugh had never heard anything suggesting it from his lips before.  He turned full round and looked at him.  On his face lay a solemn quiet, either from a feeling of his own responsibility, or a sense of the excuse that must be made for others.  What he had said about the signs of breed in Hugh’s exterior, certainly applied to himself as well.  His carriage was full of dignity, and a certain rustic refinement; his voice was wonderfully gentle, but deep; and slowest when most impassioned.  He seemed to have come of some gigantic antediluvian breed:  there was something of the Titan slumbering about him.  He would have been a stern man, but for an unusual amount of reverence that seemed to overflood the sternness, and change it into strong love.  No one had ever seen him thoroughly angry; his simple displeasure with any of the labourers, the quality of whose work was deficient, would go further than the laird’s oaths.

Hugh sat looking at David, who supported the look with that perfect calmness that comes of unconscious simplicity.  At length Hugh’s eye sank before David’s, as he said: 

“I wish I had known your father, then, David.”

“My father was sic a ane as I tauld ye the ither day, Mr. Sutherlan’.  I’m a’ richt there.  A puir, semple, God-fearin’ shepherd, ’at never gae his dog an ill-deserved word, nor took the skin o’ ony puir lammie, wha’s woo’ he was clippin’, atween the shears.  He was weel worthy o’ the grave ’at he wan till at last.  An’ my mither was jist sic like, wi’ aiblins raither mair heid nor my father.  They’re her beuks maistly upo’ the skelf there abune yer ain, Mr. Sutherlan’.  I honour them for her sake, though I seldom trouble them mysel’.  She gae me a kin’ o’ a scunner at them, honest woman, wi’ garrin’ me read at them o’ Sundays, till they near scomfisht a’ the guid ’at was in me by nater.  There’s doctrine for ye, Mr. Sutherlan’!” added David, with a queer laugh.

“I thought they could hardly be your books,” said Hugh.

“But I hae ae odd beuk, an’ that brings me upo’ my pedigree, Mr. Sutherlan’; for the puirest man has as lang a pedigree as the greatest, only he kens less aboot it, that’s a’.  An’ I wat, for yer lords and ladies, it’s no a’ to their credit ‘at’s tauld o’ their hither-come; an’ that’s a’ against the breed, ye ken.  A wilfu’ sin in the father may be a sinfu’ weakness i’ the son; an’ that’s what I ca’ no fair play.”