LITMIR.BIZ

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on the walls, and all manner of whigmaleeries that folk think ornamental. But nobody was there, so I made for the staircase which was at the further side, and went up it stoutly. I made scarce any noise so thickly was it carpeted, and I will own it kind of terrified me to be walking in such a place. But when a man has drunk well he is troubled not overmuckle with modesty or fear, so I e’en stepped out and soon came to a landing where was a door.

      ‘Now, thinks I, at last I have won to the habitable parts of the house; so laying my finger on the sneck I lifted it and entered. And there before me was the finest room in all the world; indeed I abate not a jot of the phrase, for I cannot think of anything finer. It was hung with braw pictures and lined with big bookcases of oak well-filled with books in fine bindings. The furnishing seemed carved by a skilled hand, and the cushions and curtains were soft velvet. But the best thing was the table, which was covered with a clean white cloth and set with all kind of good meat and drink. The dishes were of silver and as bright as Loch Awe water in an April sun. Eh, but it was a braw braw sight for a drover! And there at the far end, with a great pottle of wine before him, sat the master.

      ‘He rose as I entered, and I saw him to be dressed in the pink of town fashion, a man of maybe fifty years, but hale and well-looking, with a peaked beard and trimmed moustache and thick eyebrows. His eyes were slanted a thought, which is a thing I hate in any man, but his whole appearance was pleasing.

      ‘“Mr Stewart?” says he courteously, looking at me. “Is it Mr Duncan Stewart that I will be indebted to for the honour of this visit?”

      ‘I stared at him blankly, for how did he ken my name?

      ‘“That is my name,” I said, “but who the tevil tell’t you about it?”

      ‘“Oh, my name is Stewart myself,” says he, “and all Stewarts should be well acquaint.”

      ‘“True,” said I, “though I don’t mind your face before. But now I am here, I think you have a most gallant place, Mr Stewart.”

      ‘“Well enough. But how have you come to’t? We’ve few visitors.”

      ‘So I told him where I had come from, and where I was going, and why I was forwandered at this time of night among the muirs. He listened keenly, and when I had finished, he says verra friendly-like, “Then you’ll bide all night and take supper with me. It would never be doing to let one of the clan go away without breaking bread. Sit ye down, Mr Duncan.”

      ‘I sat down gladly enough, though I own that at first I did not half-like the whole business. There was something unchristian about the place, and for certain it was not seemly that the man’s name should be the same as my own, and that he should be so well posted in my doings. But he seemed so well-disposed that my misgivings soon vanished.

      ‘So I seated myself at the table opposite my entertainer. There was a place laid ready for me, and beside the knife and fork a long horn-handled spoon. I had never seen a spoon so long and queer, and I asked the man what it meant. “Oh,” says he, “the broth in this house is very often hot, so we need a long spoon to sup it. It is a common enough thing, is it not?”

      ‘I could answer nothing to this, though it did not seem to me sense, and I had an inkling of something I had heard about long spoons which I thought was not good; but my wits were not clear, as I have told you already. A serving man brought me a great bowl of soup and set it before me. I had hardly plunged spoon intil it, when Mr Stewart cries out from the other end: “Now, Mr Duncan, I call you to witness that you sit down to supper of your own accord. I’ve an ill name in these parts for compelling folk to take meat with me when they dinna want it. But you’ll bear me witness that you’re willing.”

      ‘“Yes, by God, I am that,” I said, for the savoury smell of the broth was rising to my nostrils. The other smiled at this as if well-pleased.

      ‘I have tasted many soups, but I swear there never was one like that. It was as if all the good things in the world were mixed thegether – whisky and kale and shortbread and cocky-leeky and honey and salmon. The taste of it was enough to make a body’s heart loup with fair gratitude. The smell of it was like the spicy winds of Arabia, that you read about in the Bible, and when you had taken a spoonful you felt as happy as if you had sellt a hundred yowes at twice their reasonable worth. Oh, it was grand soup!

      ‘“What Stewarts did you say you comed from?” I asked my entertainer.

      ‘“Oh,” he says, “I’m connected with them all, Athole Stewarts, Appin Stewarts, Rannoch Stewarts; and a’ I’ve a heap o’ land thereaways.”

      ‘“Whereabouts?” says I, wondering. “Is’t at the Blair o’ Athole, or along by Tummel side, or wast the Loch o’Rannoch, or on the Muir, or in Mamore?”

      ‘“In all the places you name,” says he.

      ‘“Got damn,” says I, “then what for do you not bide there instead of in these stinking lawlands?”

      ‘At this he laughed softly to himself. “Why, for maybe the same reason as yoursel, Mr Duncan. You know the proverb, ‘A’ Stewarts are sib to the Deil.’”

      ‘I laughed loudly; “Oh, you’ve been a wild one, too, have you? Then you’re not worse than mysel. I ken the inside of every public in the Cowgate and Canongate, and there’s no another drover on the road my match at fechting and drinking and dicing.” And I started on a long shameless catalogue of my misdeeds. Mr Stewart meantime listened with a satisfied smirk on his face.

      ‘“Yes, I’ve heard tell of you, Mr Duncan,” he says. “But here’s something more, and you’ll doubtless be hungry.”

      ‘And now there was set on the table a round of beef garnished with pot-herbs, all most delicately fine to the taste. From a great cupboard were brought many bottles of wine, and in a massive silver bowl at the table’s head were put whisky and lemons and sugar. I do not know well what I drank, but whatever it might be it was the best ever brewed. It made you scarce feel the earth round about you, and you were so happy you could scarce keep from singing. I wad give much siller to this day for the receipt.

      ‘Now, the wine made me talk, and I began to boast of my own great qualities, the things I had done and the things I was going to do. I was a drover just now, but it was not long that I would be being a drover. I had bought a flock of my own, and would sell it for a hundred pounds, no less; with that I would buy a bigger one till I had made money enough to stock a farm; and then I would leave the road and spend my days in peace, seeing to my land and living in good company. Was not my father, I cried, own cousin, thrice removed, to the Macleans o’ Duart, and my mother’s uncle’s wife a Rory of Balnacroy? And I am a scholar too, said I, for I was a matter of two years at Embro’ College, and might have been roaring in the pulpit, if I hadna liked the drink and the lassies too well.

      ‘“See,” said I, “I will prove it to you;” and I rose from the table and went to one of the bookcases. There were all manner of books, Latin and Greek, poets and philosophers, but in the main, divinity. For there I saw Richard Baxter’s “Call to the Unconverted”, and Thomas Boston of Ettrick’s “Fourfold State”, not to speak of the Sermons of half a hundred auld ministers, and the “Hind let Loose”, and many books of the covenanting folk.

      ‘“Faith,” I says, “you’ve a fine collection, Mr What’s-your-name,” for the wine had made me free in my talk. “There is many a minister and professor in the Kirk, I’ll warrant, who has a less godly library. I begin to suspect you of piety, sir.”

      ‘“Does it not behoove us,” he answered in an unctuous voice, “to mind the words of Holy Writ that evil communications corrupt good manners, and have an eye to our company? These are all the company I have, except when some stranger such as you honours me – with a visit.”

      ‘I had meantime been opening a book of plays, I think by the famous William Shakespeare, and I here proke into a loud laugh. “Ha, ha, Mr Stewart,” I says, “here’s a sentence I’ve lighted on which is hard on you. Listen! ‘The Devil can quote Scripture to advantage.’”

      ‘The

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