“Ye wud be the better o' new seed, Peter,” Hillocks remarked casually, as he came on the land steward busy in his potato patch. “A 've some kidneys a' dinna ken what tae dae wi'; a 'll send ye up a bag.” “It's rael kind of ye, Hillocks, but ye were aye neeburly.” “Dinna speak o't; that 's naething atween auld neeburs. Man, ye micht gie 's a look in when yir passin' on yir trokes. The gude wife hes some graund eggs for setting.” It was considered a happy device to get Peter to the spot, and Hillocks's management of the visit was a work of art. “Maister Robertson wud maybe like tae see thae kebbocks (cheeses) yir sending aff tae Muirtown, gude wife, afore we hae oor tea. “We canna get intae the granary the richt way, for the stair is no chancy noo, an' it wudna dae tae hae an accident wi' his lordship's land steward,” and Hillocks exchanged boxes over the soothing words. “We 'ill get through the corn-room, but Losh sake, tak care ye dinna trip in the holes o' the floor. A' canna mend mair at it, an' it's scandalous for wastin' the grain. “It's no sae bad a granary if we hedna tae keep the horses' hay in it, for want o' a richt loft. “Man, there's times in winter a 'm at ma wits' end wi' a' the cattle in aboot, an' naethin' for them but an open reed (court), an' the wife raging for a calves' byre; but that's no what we cam here for, tae haver aboot the steadin'.” “Ay, they're bonnie kebbocks, and when yir crops fail, ye 're gled eneuch tae get a pund or twa oot o' the milk.” And if his Lordship had ever dreamt of taking Peter's evidence, it would have gone to show that Hillocks's steading was a disgrace to the property. If any one could inveigle Lord Kilspindie himself to visit a farm within sight of the new lease, he had some reason for congratulation, and his lordship, who was not ignorant of such devices, used to avoid farms at such times with carefulness. But he was sometimes off his guard, and when Mrs. Macfadyen met him by accident at the foot of her garden and invited him to rest, he was caught by the lure of her conversation, and turned aside with a friend to hear again the story of Mr. Pittendriegh's goat. “Well, how have you been, Mrs. Macfadyen, as young as ever, I see, eh? And how many new stories have you got for me? But, bless my soul, what's this?” and his lordship might well be astonished at the sight. Upon the gravel walk outside the door, Elspeth had placed in a row all her kitchen and parlour chairs, and on each stood a big dish of milk, while a varied covering for this open-air dairy had been extemporised out of Jeems' Sabbath umbrella, a tea-tray, a copy of the _Advertiser_, and a picture of the battle of Waterloo Elspeth had bought from a packman. It was an amazing spectacle, and one not lightly to be forgotten. “A 'm clean ashamed that ye sud hae seen sic an exhibition, ma lord, and gin a 'd hed time it wud hae been cleared awa.”