Jemmy had long harboured a dislike to the steward on the property, which he made manifest in the following manner:—­Lord Lauderdale and Sir Anthony Maitland used to take him out shooting; and one day Lord Maitland (he was then), on having to cross the Leader, said, “Now, Jemmy, you shall carry me through the water,” which Jemmy duly did.  The steward, who was shooting with them, expected the same service, and accordingly said, “Now, Jemmy, you must carry me over.”  “Vera weel,” said Jemmy.  He took the steward on his back, and when he had carefully carried him half-way across the river he paid off his grudge by dropping him quietly into the water.

A daft individual used to frequent the same district, about whom a variety of opinions were entertained,—­some people thinking him not so foolish as he sometimes seemed.  On one occasion a person, wishing to test whether he knew the value of money, held out a sixpence and a penny, and offered him his choice.  “I’ll tak the wee ane,” he said, giving as his modest reason, “I’se no be greedy.”  At another time, a miller laughing at him for his witlessness, he said, “Some things I ken, and some I dinna ken.”  On being asked what he knew, he said, “I ken a miller has aye a gey fat sou.”  “An’ what d’ye no ken?” said the miller.  “Ou,” he returned, “I dinna ken wha’s expense she’s fed at.”

A very amusing collision of one of those penurious lairds, already referred to, a certain Mr. Gordon of Rothie, with a half-daft beggar wanderer of the name of Jock Muilton, has been recorded.  The laird was very shabby, as usual, and, meeting Jock, began to banter him on the subject of his dress:—­“Ye’re very grand, Jock.  Thae’s fine claes ye hae gotten; whaur did ye get that coat?” Jock told him who had given him his coat, and then, looking slily at the laird, he inquired, as with great simplicity, “And whaur did ye get yours, laird?”

For another admirable story of a rencontre between a penurious laird and the parish natural I am indebted to the Scotsman, June 16, 1871.  Once on a time there was a Highland laird renowned for his caution in money matters, and his precise keeping of books.  His charities were there; but that department of his bookkeeping was not believed to be heavy.  On examination, a sum of half-a-crown was unexpectedly discovered in it; but this was accounted for in a manner creditable to his intentions, if not to his success in executing them.  It had been given in mistake instead of a coin of a different denomination, to “the natural” of the parish for holding his shelty while he transacted business at the bank.  A gleam in the boy’s eye drew his attention to a gleam of white as the metal dropped into his pocket.  In vain the laird assured him it was not a good bawbee—­if he would give it up he would get another—­it was “guid eneuch” for the like of him.  And when the laird in his extremity swore a great oath that unless it was given up he would never give another halfpenny, the answer was—­“Ech, laird, it wad be lang or ye gied me saxty.”