Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush | Page 3

a
scholar in the egg, and prophesied Latinity from a boy that seemed fit
only to be a cowherd. It was believed that he had never made a mistake
in judgment, and it was not his blame if the embryo scholar did not
come to birth. "Five and thirty years have I been minister at
Drumtochty," the Doctor used to say at school examinations, "and we
have never wanted a student at the University, and while Dominie
Jamieson lives we never shall." Whereupon Domsie took snuff, and
assigned his share of credit to the Doctor, "who gave the finish in
Greek to every lad of them, without money and without price, to make
no mention of the higher mathematics." Seven ministers, four
schoolmasters, four doctors, one professor, and three civil service men
had been sent out by the auld schule in Domsie's time, besides many
that "had given themselves to mercantile pursuits."
He had a leaning to classics and the professions, but Domsie was
catholic in his recognition of "pairts," and when the son of Hillocks'
foreman made a collection of the insects of Drumtochty, there was a
council at the manse. "Bumbee Willie," as he had been pleasantly
called by his companions, was rescued from ridicule and encouraged to
fulfil his bent. Once a year a long letter came to Mr. Patrick Jamieson,
M.A., Schoolmaster, Drumtochty, N.B., and the address within was the
British Museum. When Domsie read this letter to the school, he was
always careful to explain that "Dr. Graham is the greatest living
authority on beetles," and, generally speaking, if any clever lad did not
care for Latin, he had the alternative of beetles.
But it was Latin Domsie hunted for as for fine gold, and when he found
the smack of it in a lad he rejoiced openly. He counted it a day in his
life when he knew certainly that he had hit on another scholar, and the
whole school saw the identification of George Howe. For a winter
Domsie had been "at point," racing George through Caesar, stalking
him behind irregular verbs, baiting traps with tit-bits of Virgil. During
these exercises Domsie surveyed George from above his spectacles
with a hope that grew every day in assurance, and came to its height
over a bit of Latin prose. Domsie tasted it visibly, and read it again in

the shadow of the firs at meal-time, slapping his leg twice.
"He'll dae! he'll dae!" cried Domsie aloud, ladling in the snuff. "George,
ma mannie, tell yir father that I am comin' up to Whinnie Knowe the
nicht on a bit o' business."
Then the "schule" knew that Geordie Hoo was marked for college, and
pelted him with fir cones in great gladness of heart.
"Whinnie" was full of curiosity over the Dominie's visit, and vexed
Marget sorely, to whom Geordie had told wondrous things in the
milk-house. "It canna be coals 'at he's wantin' frae the station, for
there's a fell puckle left."
"And it'll no be seed taties," she said, pursuing the principle of
exhaustion, "for he hes some Perthshire reds himsel'. I doot it's
somethin' wrang with Geordie," and Whinnie started on a new track.
"He's been playin' truant maybe. A' mind gettin' ma paiks for
birdnestin' masel. I'll wager that's the verra thing."
"Weel, yir wrang, Weelum," broke in Marget, Whinnie's wife, a tall,
silent woman, with a speaking face; "it's naither the ae thing nor the
ither, but something I've been prayin' for since Geordie was a wee bairn.
Clean yirsel and meet Domsie on the road, for nae man deserves more
honour in Drumtochty, naither laird nor farmer."
Conversation with us was a leisurely game, with slow movements and
many pauses, and it was our custom to handle all the pawns before we
brought the queen into action.
Domsie and Whinnie discussed the weather with much detail before
they came in sight of George, but it was clear that Domsie was charged
with something weighty, and even Whinnie felt that his own treatment
of the turnip crop was wanting in repose.
At last Domsie cleared his throat and looked at Marget, who had been
in and out, but ever within hearing.

"George is a fine laddie, Mrs. Howe."
An ordinary Drumtochty mother, although bursting with pride, would
have responded, "He's weel eneuch, if he hed grace in his heart," in a
tone that implied it was extremely unlikely, and that her laddie led the
reprobates of the parish. As it was, Marget's face lightened, and she
waited.
"What do you think of making him?" and the Dominie dropped the
words slowly, for this was a moment in Drumtochty.
There was just a single ambition in those humble homes, to have one of
its members at college, and if Domsie approved a lad,