“Well, now, what do you think of my wife’s scones and oatcakes?” said I. “They’re just A.1. Ye canna beat oatmeal, and to my mind the oats grown North of the Grampians are far superior to the Midlothians, though they charge more for Midlothian. No, there is no wheat grown in Aberdeenshire; I only remember one field, and that was outside the city.”
While we were talking, one of the ewes came up to my little daughter, and, friendly as a dog, began to touch her leg with its nose. She noticed that, not only was its face spotted, but its tongue was black, a feature new to her experience. We remarked on the tameness of the confiding creature, and the shepherd said, “I had a pet sheep last year, which would come and sit on your knee. A leddy came and photographed it, but I hae na got a pet this year.” The following year, as will presently be shown, we were able to see two pet sheep.
He would have preferred to make the journey to Aberdeen by water, for he liked the sea and its storms. “Perhaps you were born near the coast?” “I was born seventy miles from the sea, but I always liked it. I have been on deck when everybody was ill but mysel. Am nae sure but I’ll manage the voyage yet.”
“Then you’re not afraid of submarines?” “Not at a’.”
Incidentally I recalled a conversation which took place near his wooden house at an earlier date, when we had been treated to a series of air raids. “Of course,” I observed, “you have experienced some of our worst raids this year; did you stay . . .”