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- Джон Бакен
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"
Were
you
born
in
this
parish
?
"
David
asked
.
"
Na
,
na
.
Far
frae
that
.
I
’
m
but
an
incomer
,
though
I
’
ve
had
the
tack
o
’
Reiverslaw
for
a
dizzen
years
.
My
father
,
honest
man
,
was
frae
the
Glenkens
,
and
my
mither
cam
’
frae
the
Cairn
side
.
I
was
born
at
a
bit
they
ca
’
Dunscore
,
but
I
was
a
stirrin
’
lad
in
my
young
days
and
I
’
ve
traivelled
the
feck
o
’
the
Lawlands
,
frae
the
Forth
to
the
Solway
.
But
now
I
’
ve
got
my
hinderlands
doun
in
Woodilee
,
and
it
’
s
like
I
’
ll
lay
my
banes
here
.
"
The
man
spoke
in
a
different
voice
from
the
people
of
the
place
,
and
to
David
he
seemed
as
one
detached
from
the
countryside
,
sharing
neither
its
interests
nor
affections
.
As
he
looked
at
him
,
sprawling
in
the
heather
bush
with
one
foot
on
his
horse
’
s
bridle
,
he
had
a
sense
of
something
assured
and
resolute
and
not
unfriendly
.
"
Ye
’
re
an
incomer
like
mysel
’
,
sir
,
"
Reiverslaw
said
after
a
pause
.
"
What
think
ye
o
’
Woodilee
?
"
"
I
think
that
the
Devil
has
chosen
this
miserable
parish
for
his
own
.
"
"
Ay
.
.
.
.
Well
,
I
wadna
say
ye
were
wrang
.
I
jaloused
[
guessed
]
frae
your
last
discourse
that
ye
were
perplexed
wi
’
the
Enemy
.
And
they
tell
me
that
ye
’
ve
stirred
up
an
unco
byke
against
ye
.
"
"
Are
you
one
of
them
?
"
David
asked
.
"
No
me
.
If
there
’
s
fechtin
’
to
be
done
,
I
’
m
on
your
side
.
I
aye
likit
a
bauld
man
,
and
it
’
s
a
question
,
sir
,
if
ye
ken
yoursel
’
how
bauld
ye
are
when
ye
offer
to
drive
the
Deil
frae
Woodilee
.
"
David
had
got
to
his
feet
,
for
these
were
the
first
words
of
sympathy
he
had
had
.
