a Drumtochty face
soften at the sight of MacLure limping to his horse.

Mr. Hopps earned the ill-will of the Glen for ever by criticising
the doctor's dress, but indeed it would have filled any townsman with
amazement. Black he wore once a year, on Sacrament Sunday, and, if
possible, at a funeral; topcoat or waterproof never. His jacket and
waistcoat were rough homespun of Glen Urtach wool, which threw off the
wet like a duck's back, and below he was clad in shepherd's tartan
trousers, which disappeared into unpolished riding boots. His shirt was
grey flannel, and he was uncertain about a collar, but certain as to a
tie which he never had, his beard doing instead, and his hat was soft
felt of four colors and seven different shapes. His point of distinction
in dress was the trousers, and they were the subject of unending
speculation.

"Some threep that he's worn thae eedentical pair the last twenty year,
an' a' mind masel him gettin' a tear ahint, when he was crossin' oor
palin', and the mend's still veesible.

"Ithers declare 'at he's got a wab o' claith, and hes a new pair made in
Muirtown aince in the twa year maybe, and keeps them in the garden till
the new look wears aff.

"For ma ain pairt," Soutar used to declare, "a' canna mak up my mind,
but there's ae thing sure, the Glen wud not like tae see him withoot
them: it wud be a shock tae confidence. There's no muckle o' the check
left, but ye can aye tell it, and when ye see thae breeks comin' in ye
ken that if human pooer can save yir bairn's life it 'ill be dune."

The confidence of the Glen--and tributary states--was unbounded, and
rested partly on long experience of the doctor's resources, and partly
on his hereditary connection.

"His father was here afore him," Mrs. Macfadyen used to explain; "atween
them they've hed the countyside for weel on tae a century; if MacLure
disna understand oor constitution, wha dis, a' wud like tae ask?"

For Drumtochty had its own constitution and a special throat disease, as
became a parish which was quite self-contained between the woods and the
hills, and not dependent on the lowlands either for its diseases or its
doctors.

"He's a skilly man, Doctor MacLure," continued my friend Mrs. Macfayden,
whose judgment on sermons or anything else was seldom at fault; "an'
a kind-hearted, though o' coorse he hes his faults like us a', an' he
disna tribble the Kirk often.

"He aye can tell what's wrang wi' a body, an' maistly