“Ye did weel, Jamie, an' a' tak back what a' said aboot jokin'; this 'ill be nae jokin' maitter aither for the factor or Drumtochty.” There was silence for a full minute, for Whinnie himself knew that it was a crisis in Drumtochty, and the fathers waited for Drumsheugh to speak. People admired him for his sharpness in bargaining, and laughed at a time about his meanness in money affairs, but they knew that there was a stiff backbone in Drumsheugh, and that in any straits of principle he would play the man. “This is a black beesiness, neeburs, an' nae man among us can see the end o't, for gin they begin by tryin' tae harry the Frees intae the Auld Kirk, the next thing they 'ill dae wull be tae drive us a' doon tae the English Chaipel at Kildrummie.” “There's juist ae mind, a' tak' it, wi' richt-thinkin' men,” and Drumsheugh's glance settled on Hillocks, whose scheming ways had somewhat sapped his manhood, and the unfortunate land-steward, whose position was suddenly invested with associations of treachery. “We 'ill pay oor rent and dae oor duty by the land like honest men, but we 'ill no tak oor releegion, no, nor oor politics, frae ony livin' man, naither lord nor factor. “We 're a' sorry for Burnbrae, for the brunt o' the battle 'ill fa' on him, an' he's been a gude neebur ta a' body, but there's nae fear o' him buying his lease wi' his kirk. Ma certes, the factor chose the worst man in the Glen for an aff go. Burnbrae wud raither see his hale plenishing gae doon the Tochty than play Judas to his kirk. “It's an awfu' peety that oor auld Scotch kirk wes split, and it wud be a heartsome sicht tae see the Glen a' aneath ae roof aince a week. But ae thing we maun grant, the Disruption lat the warld ken there wes some spunk in Scotland. “There 's nae man a' wud raither welcome tae oor kirk than Burnbrae, gin he cam o' his ain free will, but it wud be better that the kirk sud stand empty than be filled wi' a factor's hirelings.” Domsie took Drumsheugh by the hand, and said something in Latin that escaped the fathers, and then they went into kirk in single file with the air of a regiment of soldiers. Drumsheugh set in the “briest o' the laft,” as became a ruling elder, and had such confidence in the minister's orthodoxy that he was accustomed to meditate during the sermon, but on this memorable day he sat upright and glared at the pulpit with a ferocious expression. The doctor was disturbed by this unusual attention, and during his mid-sermon snuff sought in vain for a reason, since the sermon, “On the Certainty of Harvest, proved by the Laws of Nature and the Promises of Revelation,” was an annual event, and Drumsheugh, walking by faith, had often given it his warm approval. He had only once before seen the same look--after the great potato calamity; and when the elder came to the manse, and they had agreed as to the filling quality of the weather, the doctor inquired anxiously how Drumsheygh had done with his potatoes.