o' the Border, and there's mony in
Nithsdale and Annandale as would be gey pleased to hear news o' the son
o' Archie Stakes, o' Ecclefechan.

I maun e'en do as I'm tauld, however, for Mr. West's sake, hoping he'll
no forget me when I chance to hae a favour tae ask.(1) I'm no able tae
write mysel' because my feyther sent me oot to scare craws instead o'
sendin' me tae school, but on the ither hond he brought me up in the
preenciples and practice o' the real kirk o' the Covenant, for which may
the Lord be praised!

It way last May twel'month that the factor body, Maister McNeil, cam
ower tae me in the street and speered whether I was in want o' a place
as a coachman and gairdner. As it fell oot I chanced tae be on the look
oot for something o' the sort mysel' at the time, but I wasna ower quick
to let him see that I wanted it.

"Ye can tak it or leave it," says he sharp like. "It's a guid place,
and there's mony would be glad o't. If ye want it ye can come up tae my
office at twa the morn and put your ain questions tae the gentleman."

That was a' I could get frae him, for he's a close man and a hard one at
a bargain--which shall profit him leetle in the next life, though he lay
by a store o' siller in this. When the day comes there'll be a hantle o'
factors on the left hand o' the throne, and I shouldna be surprised if
Maister McNeil found himsel' amang them.

Weel, on the morn I gaed up to the office and there I foond the factor
and a lang, thin, dour man wi' grey hair and a face as brown and
crinkled as a walnut. He looked hard at me wi' a pair o' een that glowed
like twa spunks, and then he says, says he:

"You've been born in these pairts, I understan'?"

"Aye," says I, "and never left them neither."

"Never been oot o' Scotland?" he speers.

"Twice to Carlisle fair," says I, for I am a man wha loves the truth;
and besides I kenned that the factor would mind my gaeing there, for I
bargained fur twa steers and a stirk that he wanted for the stockin' o'
the Drumleugh Fairm.

"I learn frae Maister McNeil," says General Heatherstone--for him it was
and nane ither--"that ye canna write."

"Na," says I.

"Nor read?"

"Na," says I.

"It seems tae me," says he, turnin' tae the factor, "that this is the
vera man I want. Servants is spoilt noo-a-days," says he, "by ower
muckle eddication. I hae nae doobt, Stakes, that ye will suit me well
enough. Ye'll hae three pund a month and a' foond, but I shall resairv