“When I think ower it often I wonder how it was possible that I could be here the day. But the Lord’s very gracious, and he works in a queer way. For it so happened that Ebie Blackstock, whae had left Gledsmuir an hour afore me and whom I thocht by this time to be snorin’ in his bed at the Head o’ the Hope, had gone intil the herd’s house at the Waterfit, and had got sae muckle drink there that he was sweered to start for hame till aboot half-past twal i’ the night. Weel, he was comin’ up the burnside, gae happy and contentit, for he had nae wife at hame to speir about his ongaeings, when, as he’s telled me himsel, he heard sic an uproar doon by the Black Linn that made him turn pale and think that the Deil, whom he had long served, had gotten him at last. But he was a brave man, was Ebie, and he thinks to himsel that some fellow-creature micht be perishin’. So he gangs forrit wi’ a’ his pith, trying to think on the Lord’s Prayer and last Sabbath’s sermon. And, lookin’ ower the edge, he saw naething for a while, naething but the black water wi’ the awfu’ yells coming out o’ ’t. Then he made out something like a heid near the side. So he rins doon by the road, no ower the rocks as I had come, but round by the burnside road, and soon he gets to the pool, where the crying was getting aye fainter and fainter. And then he saw me. And he grips me by the collar, for he was a sensible man, was Ebie, and hauls me oot. If he hadna been geyan strong he couldna hae dune it, for I was a deid wecht, forbye having a heavy man hanging on to me. When he got me up, what was his astonishment to find anither man at the end o’ my airm, a man like a corp a’ bloody about the heid. So he got us baith out, and we wae baith senseless; and he laid us in a safe bit back frae the water, and syne gaed off for help. So bye and bye we were baith got hame, me to my house and Mr. Airthur up to the Lodge.”
“And was that the end of it?” I asked.
“Na,” said the shepherd. “I lay for twae month there raving wi’ brain fever, and when I cam to my senses I was as weak as a bairn. It was many months ere I was mysel again, and my left airm to this day is stiff and no muckle to lippen to. But Mr. Airthur was far waur, for the dad he had gotten on the rock was thocht to have broken his skull, and he lay long atween life and death. And the warst thing was that his faither was sae vexed about him that he never got ower the shock, but dee’d afore Airthur was out o’ bed. And so when he cam out again he was My Lord, and a monstrously rich man.”
The shepherd puffed meditatively at his pipe for a few minutes.
“But that’s no a’ yet. For Mr. Airthur wad tak nae refusal but that I maun gang awa’ doon wi’ him to his braw house in England and be a land o’ factor or steward or something like that. And I had a rale fine cottage a’ to mysel, wi’ a very bonny gairden and guid wages, so I stayed there maybe sax month and then I gaed up till him. ‘I canna bide nae longer,’ says I. ‘I canna stand this place. It’s far ower laigh, and I’m fair sick to get hills to rest my een on. I’m awfu’ gratefu’ to ye for your kindness, but I maun gie up my job.’ He was very sorry to lose me, and was for giein’ me a present o’ money or stockin’ a fairm for me, because he said that it was to me he owed his life. But I wad hae nane o’ his gifts. ‘It wad be a terrible thing,’ I says, ‘to tak siller for daein’ what ony body wad hae dune out o’ pity.’ So I cam awa’ back to Standlan, and I maun say I’m rale contentit here. Mr. Airthur used whiles to write to me and ca’ in and see me when he cam North for the shooting; but since he’s gane sae far wrang wi’ the Tories, I’ve had naething mair to dae wi’ him.”
I made no answer, being busy pondering in my mind on the depth of the shepherd’s political principles, before which the ties of friendship were as nothing.
“Ay,” said he, standing up, “I did what I thocht my duty at the time and I was rale glad I saved the callant’s life. But now, when I think on a’ the ill he’s daein’ to the country and the Guid Cause, I whiles think I wad hae been daein’ better if I had just drappit him in.
“But whae kens?
