Jimmy Stirk also reckoned himself among Gilbert’s allies. Silent, sullen, fervid, his mind and energies concentrated upon the business of his day, he mentally contrasted every gentleman he met with the laird of Whanland, weighed him, and found him wanting. The brown horse, whose purchase had been such an event in his life, did his work well, and the boy expended a good deal more time upon his grooming than upon that of the mealy chestnut which shared the shed behind the cottage with the newcomer, and had once been its sole occupant. On finding himself owner of a more respectable-looking piece of horseflesh than he had ever thought to possess, he searched his mind for a name with which to ornament his property; it took him several days to decide that Rob Roy being, to his imagination, the most glorious hero ever created, he would christen the horse in his honour. His grandmother, systematically averse to new notions, cast scorn on what she called his ‘havers’; but as time went by, and she saw that no impression was made upon Jimmy, she ended in using the name as freely as if she had bestowed it herself. It occurred to Mr. Barclay, after leaving Fullarton, that, as Granny Stirk knew more about other people’s business than anyone he could think of, he would do sensibly in paying her a visit. That Gilbert often sat talking with her was perfectly well known to him, and if she had any ideas about the state of his affections and intentions, and could be induced to reveal her knowledge, it would be valuable matter to retail to Fordyce. Her roof had been mended a couple of months since, and he had made the arrangements for it, so he was no stranger to the old woman. It behoved him in his character of ‘man of business’ to examine the work that had been done, for he had not seen it since its completion. He directed his man to drive to the cottage, and sat smiling, as he rolled along, at the remembrance of Fordyce’s dilemma and his own simple solution of it. Jimmy’s cart, with Rob Roy in the shafts, was standing at the door, and had to be moved away to enable him to draw up; it had been freshly painted, and the three divisions of the tailboard contained each a coloured device. In the centre panel was the figure of a fish; those at the sides bore each a mermaid holding a looking-glass; the latter were the arms of the town of Kaims. Barclay alighted, heavily and leisurely, from his phaeton. ‘How is the business, my laddie?’ he inquired affably, and in a voice which he thought suitable to the hearty habits of the lower orders. ‘It’s fine,’ said Jimmy. ‘The horse is doing well----eh?’ ‘He’s fine,’ said Jimmy again. ‘And your grandmother? I hope she is keeping well this good weather.’ ‘She’s fine.’