"But wae's me"--and Jamie broke down utterly behind a fir tree, so tender a thing is a cynic's heart--"that fouk 'ill tak a man's best wark a' his days withoot a word an' no dae him honour till he dees. Oh, if they hed only githered like this juist aince when he wes livin', an' lat him see he hedna laboured in vain. His reward hes come ower late, ower late." During Jamie's vain regret, the Castle trap, bearing the marks of a wild passage in the snow-covered wheels, a broken shaft tied with rope, a twisted lamp, and the panting horses, pulled up between two rows of farmers, and Drumsheugh received his lordship with evident emotion. "Ma lord ... we never thocht o' this ... an' sic a road." "How are you, Drumsheugh? and how are you all this wintry day? That's how I'm half an hour late; it took us four hours' stiff work for sixteen miles, mostly in the drifts, of course." "It wes gude o' yir lordship, tae mak sic an effort, an' the hale Glen wull be gratefu' tae ye, for ony kindness tae him is kindness tae us." "You make too much of it, Drumsheugh," and the clear, firm voice was heard of all; "it would have taken more than a few snow drifts to keep me from showing my respect to William MacLure's memory." When all had gathered in a half circle before the kitchen door, Lord Kilspindie came out--every man noticed he had left his overcoat, and was in black, like the Glen--and took a place in the middle with Drumsheugh and Burnbrae, his two chief tenants, on the right and left, and as the minister appeared every man bared his head. The doctor looked on the company--a hundred men such as for strength and gravity you could hardly have matched in Scotland--standing out in picturesque relief against the white background, and he said: "It's a bitter day, friends, and some of you are old; perhaps it might be wise to cover your heads before I begin to pray." Lord Kilspindie, standing erect and greyheaded between the two old men, replied: "We thank you, Dr. Davidson, for your thoughtfulness; but he endured many a storm in our service, and we are not afraid of a few minutes' cold at his funeral." A look flashed round the stern faces, and was reflected from the minister, who seemed to stand higher. His prayer, we noticed with critical appreciation, was composed for the occasion, and the first part was a thanksgiving to God for the life-work of our doctor, wherein each clause was a reference to his services and sacrifices. No one moved or said Amen--it had been strange with us--but when every man had heard the gratitude of his dumb heart offered to Heaven, there was a great sigh. After which the minister prayed that we might have grace to live as this man had done from youth to old age, not for himself, but for others, and that we might be followed to our grave by somewhat of "that love wherewith we mourn this day Thy servant departed." Again the same sigh, and the minister said Amen.