“A' canna help it, John; the Almichty made a woman different from a man, an' the 'ill be nae peace for me till we be oot o' Burnbrae. “Ma wark here's feenished, an' it's no like hame ony mair. A' wish the flittin' were ower an' you an' me were settled whar we 'ill end oor days.” Burnbrae had found a little place near Kildrummie that would leave him within reach of his kirk, which he had loved at a great cost, and his old neighbours, to whom he was knit with new ties. “The Word can come onywhere tae the hert, an' the angel o' His Presence 'ill aye be wi' us, Jean, but there's nae place whar the Evangel 'ill ever soond sae sweet as in the Free Kirk o' Drumtochty. “We 'ill traivel up as lang as we 're able, and see oor friends aince a week. It 'ill dae us gude, wumman, tae get a handshak frae Netherton and Donald Menzies, an' Lachlan himsel, though he be a stiff chiel” (for this was before the transformation). “Forbye the Auld Kirk folk, for a' dinna deny, Jean, aifter a' that's happened, that it 'ill be pleasant tae meet them comin' wast, wi' Drumsheugh at their head. “Ma hert's warm tae a' body in the Glen, and a'ken they'ill no forget us, Jean, in oor bit hoosie at Kildrummie.” One Thursday afternoon--the flitting was to be on Monday--Burnbrae came upon Jean in the garden, digging up plants and packing them tenderly with wide margins of their native earth. “A' cudna leave them, John, an' they 'ill mak oor new gairden mair hame-like. The pinks are cuttin's a' set masel, an' the fuchsias tae, an' Jeannie carried the can and watered them that simmer afore she deed. “When Peter Robertson wes warnin' us no tae meddle wi' ony fixture for fear o' the factor, a' askit him aboot the floors, an' he said, 'Gin a' hed plantit them masel, they micht be lifted.' Gude kens a' did, every ane, though it 's no mony we can tak; but preserve's, wha's yon?” It was not needful to ask, for indeed only one man in the parish could walk with such grave and stately dignity, and that because his father and grandfather had been parish ministers before him. “This is rael neeburly, Doctor, an' like yer-sel tae come up afore we left the auld place. Ye 're welcome at Burnbrae as yir father wes in ma father's day. Ye heard that we 're flittin' on Monday?” “Ye're not away yet, Burnbrae, you're not away yet; it's not so easy to turn out a Drumtochty man as our English factor thought: we 're a stiff folk, and our roots grip fast. “He was to rule this parish, and he was to do as he pleased with honest men; we 'll see who comes off best before the day is done,” and the Doctor struck his stick, the stick of office with the golden head, on the gravel in triumph. “You v'e just come in time, Mrs. Baxter”--for Jean had been putting herself in order--“for I want to give you a bit of advice. Do not lift any more of your plants--it 's bad for their growth; and I rather think you 'll have to put them back.”