scars, and for such risks of life men get the Victoria Cross in other fields. MacLure got nothing but the secret affection of the Glen, which knew that none had ever done one tenth as much for it as this ungainly, twisted, battered figure, and I have seen a Drumtochty face soften at the sight of MacLure limping to his horse. Mr. Hopps earned the ill-will of the Glen for ever by criticising the doctor’s dress, but indeed it would have filled any townsman with amazement. Black he wore once a year, on sacrament Sunday, and, if possible, at a funeral; top-coat or water-proof never. His jacket and waistcoat were rough homespun of Glen Urtach wool, which threw off the wet like a duck’s back, and below he was clad in shepherd’s tartan trousers, which disappeared into unpolished riding-boots. His shirt was gray flannel, and he was uncertain about a collar, but certain as to a tie,--which he never had, his beard doing instead,--and his hat was soft felt of four colours and seven different shapes. His point of distinction in dress was the trousers, and they were the subject of unending speculation. “Some threep that he’s worn thae eedentical pair the last twenty year, an’ a mind masel’ him getting’ a tear ahint, when he was crossin’ oor palin’, an the mend’s still veesible. “Ithers declare ‘at he’s got a wab o’ claith, and hes a new pair made in Muirtown aince in the twa year maybe, and keeps them in the garden till the new look wears aff. “For ma ain pairt,” Soutar used to declare, “a’ canna mak’ up my mind, but there’s ae thing sure: the Glen wudna like tae see him withoot them; it wud be a shock tae confidence. There’s no muckle o’ the check left, but ye can aye tell it, and when ye see thae breeks comin’ in ye ken that if human pooer can save yir bairn’s life it ‘ill be dune.” The confidence of the Glen--and the tributary states--was unbounded, and rested partly on long experience of the doctor’s resources, and partly on his hereditary connection. “His father was here afore him,” Mrs. Macfadyen used to explain; “atween them they’ve hed the country-side for weel on tae a century; if MacLure disna understand oor constitution, wha dis, a’ wud like tae ask?” For Drumtochty had its own constitution and a special throat disease, as became a parish which was quite self-contained between the woods and the hills, and not dependent on the lowlands either for its diseases or its doctors. “He’s a skilly man, Dr. MacLure,” continued my friend Mrs. Macfadyen, whose judgment on sermons or anything else was seldom at fault; “an’ a kind-hearted, though o’ coorse he hes his faults like us a’, an’ he disna tribble the kirk often. “He aye can tell what’s wrong wi’ a body, an’ maistly he can put ye richt, and there’s nae new-fangled wys wi’ him; a blister for the ootside an’ Epsom salts for the inside dis his wark, an’ they say there’s no an herb on the hills he disna ken.