“We haena pictures nor gouden treasures, but there's an' auld chair at oor fireside, an' a' saw ma grandfather in it when a' wes a laddie at the schule, an' a' mind him tellin' me that his grandfather hed sat in it lang afore. It's no worth muckle, an' it's been often mended, but a 'll no like tae see it carried oot frae Burnbrae. “There is a Bible, tae, that hes come doon, father tae son, frae 1690, and ilka Baxter hes written his name in it, an' 'farmer at Burnbrae,' but it 'ill no be dune again, for oor race 'ill be awa frae Burnbrae for ever. “Be patient wi' me, ma Lord, for it's the lest time we 're like tae meet, an' there's anither thing a' want tae say, for it's heavy on ma hert. “When the factor told me within this verra room that we maun leave, he spoke o' me as if a' hed been a lawless man, an' it cut me mair than ony ither word. “Ma Lord, it's no the men that fear their God that 'ill brak the laws, an' a ken nae Baxter that wes ither than a loyal man tae his King and country. “Ma uncle chairged wi' the Scots Greys at Waterloo, and a' mind him tellin', when a' wes a wee laddie, hoo the Hielanders cried oot, '_Scotland for ever_,' as they passed. “I needna tell ye aboot ma brither, for he wes killed by yir side afore Sebastopol, and the letter ye send tae Burnbrae is keepit in that Bible for a heritage. “A 'll mention naethin' aither o' ma ain laddie, for ye've said mair than wud be richt for me, but we coont it hard that when oor laddie hes shed his blude like an honest man for his Queen, his auld father and mither sud be driven frae the hame their forbears hed for seeven generations.” Lord Kilspindie rose to his feet at the mention of Sebastopol, and now went over to the window as one who wished to hide his face. “Dinna be angry with me, ma Lord, nor think a'm boastin', but a' cudna thole that ye sud think me a lawbreaker, wha cared naither for kirk nor commonweal,” and still his Lordship did not move. “It gaes tae ma hert that we sud pairt in anger, an' if a 've said mair than a' oucht, it wes in sorrow, for a'll never forget hoo lang ma fouk hae lived on yir land, and hoo gude ye hae been tae me,” and Burnbrae turned to the door. “You 're the dullest man in all Drumtochty,” cried Kilspindie, wheeling round--one might have fancied--but that is absurd--“and the truest. Did you think that a Hay would let a Baxter go for all the kirks that ever were built? You supposed that I wanted you to play the knave for your farm, and this was the news you were to carry home to Jean; it's too bad of you, Burnbrae.” “Ma Lord, a'... ye ken--” “It's all right, and I'm only joking; and the play was carried on a bit too long for both of us, but I wanted to hear your own mind upon this matter,” and Kilspindie called for the factor. “Is the Burnbrae lease drawn up?”