It was a fair day in the eyes of a Scottish farmer. The grass was coated in layer of morning dew, and the birds sang in the trees, and there was a short stone wall meant for the purpose of keeping a flock of sheep from wandering too far from the farmer. On this wall sat two men covered in soot and grime, “Tis a fine day isn't it MacTavish?” asked William, the smaller of the two men.

“Aye! Indeed it is,” replied MacTavish, “perfect weather for tending to the flock.” MacTavish, unlike his companion next to him, was not small. He was a burly man, with a round barrel-chest and thick muscular arms, brown hair with flecks of gray, and a prominent beard. “Speaking of the flock,” he said, “ I best be getting back to them, sheep don't watch themselves.”

William nodded and sighed, “ Yeah, I guess you’re right, being a tanner isn’t easy, but it’s all I got.” With that they got up, said their goodbyes, and MacTavish headed back towards his farm, completely unaware of what was in store for him.

It was about noon when MacTavish got home, which was later than he had hoped, on account of a stubborn flock. When he arrived he penned the sheep up, and went to plowing the fields. This was hard and tedious work, but he loved it. MacTavish was not forced into farming like others because of rude nobles who thought it best for lowly villagers to do the work, but because he grew up on this farm and it had become a part of him. After an hour, he thought it would be best to give the plow horse a break. He took the horse out to the pasture and let it eat and drink, then he went to sit down by himself. About ten minutes after MacTavish had sat down, a stranger clad in a gray cowled cloak rode to the farm astride a white mare with a jet black mane.

“Hullo friend!” The stranger called in a deep, yet friendly voice, “Do you care if I sit with you?”
MacTavish, taken aback by the stranger’s arrival called back, “If it pleases you.” At that the man rode up and tethered his horse to the farm fence. “Nice to meet you, my name is MacTavish, and this is my farm.”

The stranger glanced up and looked around, “Quite the farm you got here,” the stranger said, “ I love places like this, quiet and peaceful.”
“Aye, it is quite beautiful,” Mactavish said, “Well, would you care for some food, I have too much for myself alone, and I’m glad to share.”
“Ahh, yes thank you,” the man said, “traveling can build up quite an appetite.” MacTavish went and grabbed a loaf of bread from the store room and a jug of water from the well. When he returned, the man said his thank yous and graciously ate his fill. “It always amazes me how much you farmers do,” the stranger said, after finishing his meal.” And how little credit you get for it.”

MacTavish sighed, “Well that is true, but we are only common-folk, and our jobs are not meant for nobles.”

“ No, that’s where you are wrong!” the man cried. “We are all people alike, there is no reason that nobles should not work their share, do not tell me you are not as important as any man of royalty.”

MacTavish was first surprised at the man’s outburst, but then curious more than anything else, “Who are you?”

The man looked up, not pulling down his cowl, “I am just a simple wanderer.” MacTavish, not believing him, repeated his question. “My identity is nothing of importance,” he declared.

“Tell me now,” MacTavish said, “Or get off my farm.’
The stranger sighed, and removed his cowl. “My name is King Duke the Third, if you must know.”

MacTavish, after fully taking in what he had heard, made to lower himself to his knees. The King gripped him by the shoulder mid-bow, “No, if anything I should bow to you,” he said, “for my kingdom would be nothing without common-folk like you.”

MacTavish got up and looked at him, fully taking in his appearance. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had stomach that only bulged slightly, which is less than expected from a man who can eat his heart’s desire every day.He also had a fierce mustache, and tawny arms, due to activities such as boar hunting. MacTavish looked him in the eye, “What purpose do I serve other than to serve the nobles?”

The King looked at him with awe, “Do you really not understand that you village-folk are the heart of this land?”

“But-?” MacTavish started to ask.

The King yet again heaved another sigh, “I do not want to place a burden on you but you must make sure that the townspeople know their self-worth. I must leave now, but you must first understand your meaning before you tell others.” At that, with much protest from MacTavish, the king departed, and left the farmer all alone.

Months passed, but MacTavish did not forget the king. All day and all night he pondered over his meaning, but to no avail. Then one day on his trip to the market to sell his harvest and wool, he heard the words that opened his eyes. He was at the weaver’s stand, selling his wool to prepare for the winter.

“Thank you,” the weaver said, “I don’t know what this town would do without you.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, you're welcome.” he murmured, taking the full impact of her words. MacTavish rushed back to the farm. “I understand, I finally understand,” he cried, “What would we use for tools without the blacksmith, what would we wear without the weaver, and what would we eat without the farmer!”

In the weeks that followed, MacTavish spent all his time at the town square telling all the people of their purpose in society. Many people listened and took up this preaching. This spread throughout the land, gaining much support from credible voices, such as the King, and finally a law was passed that all people would be equal in society. This meant that even nobles could be farmers. Shockingly, many of the nobles chose to go and work a simple life, relieved to be rid of the noble customs and rules. MacTavish became a well known figure throughout the land, and his deeds were written down in history to be ever remembered.