Scotland -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories
Preliminaries were disposed of in the run to Kildrummie, and as the
little company made their way through the pine woods, and down one side
of the Glen, and over the Tochty bridge, and up the other slope to the
parting of the ways, Robert was straitly questioned about the magnitude
of the work he did in Glasgow, and the customs of the people, and the
wellbeing of every single Drumtochty person in that city, and chiefly as
to the sermons he had heard, their texts and treatment. On Sabbath the
group at the kirk door would open up at Robert's approach, but he would
only nod in a shamefaced way to his friends and pass on; for it was
our etiquette that instead of remaining to gossip, a son should on such
occasions go in with his mother and sit beside her in the pew, who on
her part would mistake the psalm that he might find it for her, and
pay such elaborate attention to the sermon that every one knew she was
thinking only of her son.
If a Drumtochty man distinguished himself in the great world, then the
Glen invested his people with vicarious honour, and gathered greedily
every scrap of news. Piggie Walker himself, although only an associate
of the parish by marriage and many transactions, would not have visited
David Ross in the Upper Glen, with a view to potatoes, without inquiring
for David's son the Professor; and after the sale was effected that
astute man would settle down with genuine delight to hear the last
letter, dated from a Colonial University and containing an account of
the Professor's new discovery.
It was Piggie that asked for the letter; David would not have offered to
read it for a year's rent. Drumtochty parents with promising sons lived
in terror lest secret pride should give them away and they be accused
behind their backs of “blawing,” which in a weaker speech is translated
boasting.
David considered, with justice, that they ought to take special care,
and tried to guide his wife with discretion.
“We maun be cannie wi' John's title, wum-man, for ye ken Professor is a
by-ordinar' word; a' coont it equal tae Earl at the verra least; an' it
wudna dae tae be aye usin' 't.
“Ye micht say't aince in a conversation, juist lettin' it slip oot by
accident this wy, the Professor wes sayin' in his laist letter--a'
mean, oor son in Australy'--but a' wud ca' him John at ither times.
Pride's an awfu' mischief, Meg.”
“Ye 're as prood as a'm masel, David, and there's nae use ye scoldin' at
me for giein' oor laddie the honour he won wi' his brain an' wark,” and
the mother flared up. “A'm no feared what the neeburs say. Professor he
is, an' Professor a 'll ca' him; ye 'ill maybe be sayin' Jock next, tae
show ye 're humble.”
“Dinna tak me up sae shairp, gude wife, or think a' wud mak little o'
John; but the Al-michty hesna gien ilka faimily a Professor, an' a'm no
wantin' tae hurt oor neeburs, an' them sae ta'en up wi' him themsels.
Ye micht read his laist letter again, wumman; there's a bit a've near
forgotten.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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