GILLEASBUIG MOR.
Kaethchen was standing at the window, looking out upon the wild and
wayward sea, that was all brilliantly dappled with sun and cloud, while
Mary was at her dressing-table, preparing to go down to breakfast. It
was a blowy and blusterous morning, after the storm; but the welcome
sunlight was abroad again; and the heavens shone serene and fair.
"Never no more," Kaethchen was solemnly remarking, as she regarded the
wide plain of hurrying waves and the white sea-birds that dipped and
sailed and circled in the light, "never no more shall I have a word to
say against smuggled brandy. By rights, Mary, you and I ought both to
be in a raging fever this morning; and you look as well as ever you did
in your life, and I have only a little bit of a headache. Nor against
poaching: I have nothing to say against poaching--when it suddenly
produces somebody to get you out of a hideous and horrible morass, worse
than any quicksand that ever I heard of. Do you know, I hardly dared
put my foot to the floor this morning: I was afraid that frightful
sensation would come back, as if I were standing on nothing, and just
about to sink. Wasn't it terrible? I know I shall dream about it to my
dying day." And then she said: "I wonder what took young Ross of Heimra
up to that out-of-the-way place? Not poaching; for he had neither rod
nor gun."
"More likely selling brandy to that old woman," said Mary; and then she
added, with a touch of scorn: "A pretty occupation for a Highland
gentleman!"
"Well, Mary," said Kaethchen, reflectively. "I confess that story does
not sound to me true. I should like to have some proof before believing
it. No doubt it is just possible he may have wanted to make up to these
poor people for Mr. Purdie having banished the illicit stills; and
perhaps he could not afford to get them spirits for nothing; and so he
may charge them what he himself has paid. But it is not like what a
Highland laird would do, however poor he might be--and in a kind of way
he still stands in the position of laird towards these people. No, it
does not sound probable; but anyhow I mean to find out--if we are going
along to-day to thank the old woman for her kindness of last night. And
whether it was poaching, or smuggling, or whatever it was, that took
young Mr. Ross up to that hut, it was a very lucky thing for us: we
should never have seen the morning if we had been left there."
"That is true enough," Mary admitted; but then she went on to say, with
some asperity: "At the same time, a favour is twice a favour when it is
graciously conferred. He seemed to me a most ill-mannered young man. I
doubt whether he would have come near us at all if he had known who we
were."
"Oh, I don't agree with you--not in the least!" said Kaethchen, warmly.
"I thought he was most courteous, and--and respectful. Remember, we were
entirely strangers to him. And just think of his going all the way to
Lochgarra to get the carriage sent for us--and very quickly he must have
done it, too."
But Mary had not a word in favour of this young man whom she suspected
of far worse offences (in her eyes) than killing salmon or bringing
smuggled brandy into the district: she suspected him, in truth, of
stirring up wrath and ill-will, and setting these people against her.
"I suppose," she said, rather coldly, "we must thank him, if we should
see him."
"I, for one, mean to do so, and very heartily," Kaethchen said at once.
"I think he was most kind and considerate--if--if a little--a little
reserved. And not at all the wild savage I had expected--most
distinguished-looking, I should call him----"
"Come away down to breakfast, Kaethchen," said Mary, taking her friend
by the arm: she would hear no more on that subject.
In the hall they encountered the little Highland lass who had been their
guide on the previous night; and she, looking up with timid eyes towards
this tall and beautiful lady whose smile was so gracious and winning,
said--
"Am I to be going home now?"
"Home?" said Mary. "Have you had your breakfast?"
"Oh, yes, indeed."
"Very well, you need not go yet; you may as well wait and come with us
in the carriage--for we want to thank your grandmother for her kindness
to us. You can amuse yourself in the garden, if you like, until we are
ready."
She was obediently going away, but Kaethchen stopped her.
"I don't think you ever told us your name."
"Just Isabel," said the little maid, in her pretty fashion.
"Of course you know Mr. Ross?" was the next question.
"Oh, yes."
"What was he doing up at your cottage last night?"
"Kaethchen!" said Mary; but the little girl did not notice the
interruption: she answered quite simply,--
"He came up to ask about the cow."
"What cow?"
But here Isabel did begin to look a little frightened; and she glanced
anxiously at Miss Stanley.
"Perhaps the lady will be angry--" she said, with shrinking eyes.
"Oh, no, she won't be angry," Kaethchen interposed at once. "What about
the cow? Tell me about the cow."
"It was my mother's cow that got into the bog and was drowned--'
"The bog we strayed into?" Kaethchen exclaimed. "Do you mean to say
that cattle have been swallowed up in that place?"
"Ay, many and many a one," said the little girl.
"I'll have it fenced round at once," said Mary, in her usual prompt and
emphatic way, "no matter what it costs!"
"And the cow?" said Kaethchen, encouragingly, to the little Highland
lass. "What did Mr. Ross want to know about the cow?"
"Mr. Ross," continued Isabel, "he was sending a message that my mother
would ask Mr. Purdie and the lady for a cow in place of that one, and
the money to be paid back bit by bit as we could do it; yes, and Mr.
Purdie was to be asked for the cow; and Mr. Ross he came up last night
to see if we were to get the cow. But we were not hearing about it from
any one."
Mary's face flushed with vexation.
"Why was I not told about this?" she said, turning indignantly to
Kaethchen. "What right had Mr. Purdie to decide--and go away without
saying a word? I suppose he refused?--and that was to be all of it!"
But the little girl, hearing the lady talk in these altered tones, grew
frightened; and tears started to her eyes.
"Please, I was not asking for the cow," she said, piteously; for she
knew not what terrible mischief she had done. "I was not intending to
make the lady angry----"
Mary turned to the girl, and put her hand in a kindly way on the
raven-black hair.
"Don't you be alarmed, Isabel," she said, with a reassuring smile. "You
have done no harm; you were quite right to tell me the story. And you
need not be afraid; your mother shall have the cow; perhaps even two of
them, if the byre is big enough. Now go into the garden and amuse
yourself, until you hear the carriage come round."
However, it may here be said that in this instance Mr. Purdie was in no
wise culpable. It appeared that the widow MacVean had two days before
gone over to Cruagan, where she had a married daughter, in order to help
in the fields; and her only chance of presenting the petition was by
intercepting the factor on his way homeward. Whether she did or did not
present the petition was of no immediate consequence: Mary had resolved
upon offering up this cow, or perhaps even two cows, as a sort of
sacrificial thanksgiving for her deliverance from the Meall-na-Fearn
bog.
After breakfast they set out, Isabel seated beside the driver. And once
again they came in sight of the Minard township, with its poor little
crofts on the rocky soil, and the long sweep of white sand where, the
tide being out, the people were busy with their sickles cutting the
seaweed from the rocks.
"I wonder," said Mary, meditatively, "if I couldn't revive the
kelp-burning?"
"Oh, no," said Kaethchen (who did not quite understand how indefatigable
the young proprietress had been in qualifying herself for her new
position). "That is all over now. Those were the grand days for the
Highlands--for both the landlords and the people; but modern chemistry
has spoiled all that."
"You don't know, then," said Mary, quietly, "that kelp-burning is
carried on in some places at this moment? It is, though. Over in South
Uist the crofters get from L2 10s. to L3 a ton for kelp. But perhaps
they need all the seaweed they can get here for their crofts, or perhaps
it isn't the right kind of tangle: I must find out about that."
They drove as far as they could along the road; and they had to descend
from the carriage, to make the rest of their way on foot. And strange it
was that the moment the two girls left the highway, and found themselves
upon the yielding heather, they betrayed an unmistakeable alarm--looking
all around them as if they feared to be betrayed into some hidden
quagmire. But indeed at this point the land consisted chiefly of rocks
and peat and stones; and gradually they got accustomed to following
their sure-footed young guide who was going up the hill-side with the
lightest of steps. Long before they had climbed to the cottage, they
saw the old woman come out to scatter some remains of porridge to the
hens: a pleasant-looking old dame she was, with silvery-grey hair and a
rennet complexion; moreover (whether she had expected them or not) she
was very tidily dressed--a clean white "mutch," a short-skirted blue
gown, a white apron, and red stockings. When she saw the strangers, she
remained outside; and when they came toiling up she saluted them with a
grave and gentle "good moarning!" But beyond returning that salutation,
Mary did not enter into further talk just then. Her eyes were drawn
with a morbid fascination to the black morass that had so nearly proved
fatal to her and her companion. She seemed to feel herself once more
standing on that trembling soil, unable to move in any one direction,
the darkness coming down. And had the darkness fallen, what would the
morning have seen? The morning would have dawned upon that level waste
just as it was now--silent, empty, all its secrets sucked down and
buried for ever and ever. A hideous and lingering death: the slow
torture of the long and sombre hours, before utter exhaustion came, and
despair, and a swooning into the unknown. She shivered a little: then
she turned to the old grandmother, who was talking to Kaethchen with
such English as she could muster.
"Yes," she was saying, "my daughter, she over at Cruagan----"
"And so perhaps she did not speak to Mr. Purdie about the cow?" Mary
interposed. "Very well. That's all right. Little Isabel was telling me
about the cow that was lost. Well, I will see that you have one in its
place."
The old woman could not speak; the withered, weather-wrinkled face wore
a pained look, as if she were trying not to cry; and she furtively wiped
her hand on her apron and timidly held it out--it was by shaking hands
that she could best express her thanks. And here was an extraordinary
thing!--here was actual gratitude, the very first symptom of it that
Mary Stanley had encountered since she came to the place. But the next
moment she was saying to herself bitterly:
"Why? Why is this old woman friendly? Because she saw that Mr. Ross of
Heimra condescended to be civil to me yesterday evening. If he throws a
word to me, then I am to be tolerated! But if I had come here by
myself, I might have offered to double the size of her byre, and give
her two cows instead of one, and there would have been nothing but
sullen looks and silence. Was I not warned the moment I set foot in the
place? It's Donald Ross of Heimra who is their laird. I am a stranger,
and an enemy."
And now it was Kate Glendinning's turn to make a few discreet inquiries:
for the allegation that a Highland gentleman would condescend to sale
and barter was still rankling in her soul.
"Well, Mrs. MacVean," said she pleasantly, "that was very excellent
brandy you gave us last night, and very welcome, too: I suppose we
should have died of the cold and wet if you had not given us the hot
drink. But where did you get brandy in an out-of-the-world place like
this?"
An alarmed expression came into the old woman's face, though she
endeavoured to conceal it. She looked away down the hill-side, and said
vaguely:
"It was--in the house. Oh, ay--in the house."
"Yes; but where did you get it?" Kate asked.
There was a moment of silence--and distress.
"The brandy?--Mr. Ross--he ordering me to give it to you."
"Oh, yes," said the young lady, in the same off-hand sort of way, "and
it was very thoughtful of him--and very kind of you. It seemed to bring
us back to life again. I don't know what we should have done without
it. I was only wondering where you got such good brandy in this part of
the Highlands."
The old woman looked anxiously from the one to the other: were they
trying to entrap her?--even after their generous promise that she should
have the cow.
"Oh, ay," she said, still clinging desperately to those evasive phrases,
"the brandy--it in the house--and--and Mr. Ross, he ordering me to give
it--and any one very pleased, whatever he wishes. And the ladies--very,
very wet and cold--and a long weh home to Lochgarra--"
"Come, come, Mrs. MacVean," Kaethchen said, "you ought to know that we
don't want to make any trouble--is it likely, just after Miss Stanley
has promised to give you the cow? I am asking only out of curiosity;
and I can keep a secret as well as any one. And of course we are quite
aware that it is Mr. Ross who brings the brandy into the
neighbourhood--and very properly, too, for good brandy is better than
bad whisky, and you must have something in the house in case of
sickness. Very well: tell me what he charges you for it."
"Charges?" the old woman repeated, with a puzzled air.
"Yes," said Kaethchen, encouragingly. "I only want to know for--for
information; and I am not likely to tell any one. What do you pay him
for it?"
Then the old grandmother understood; and though she did not say much,
there was something in her tone that showed how keenly she resented this
imputation.
"Pay--Mr. Ross of Heimra--for the brandy?" said she, as if it was
herself who had been insulted; and she was turning angrily away. "You
think--the young master--tekkin money from the like of me?"
"Then he gives you the brandy for nothing?" said Kate,--and this
question at once arrested the old dame, who made answer somewhat
sulkily--
"I not saying that--I not saying that at ahl."
"Of course not," said Kaethchen, with cheerful good humour. "It is not
necessary for you to say anything. But now I understand; and I am glad
of it; for I have Highland blood in my veins myself, and I did not like
to think of a Highland gentleman taking money for little kindnesses of
that sort. And indeed I did not believe it; and I am very pleased
indeed that you have made it possible for me to contradict such a
ridiculous story."
Shortly thereafter--the old grandmother having been won into something
of a more conciliatory mood by reiterated expressions of thanks and a
circumstantial promise with regard to the cow--the two young women left;
and as they descended the hill, Kate Glendinning was most triumphant
about this refutation of what she considered a malignant slander. Mary,
on the other hand, was inclined to be coldly severe in her judgment
wherever young Ross of Heimra was concerned--though neither coldness nor
severity formed part of her ordinary temperament.
"I don't see anything to be proud of, Kaethchen," said she. "He is
cheating the revenue, for one thing."
"Cheating the revenue," said Kaethchen, in her matter-of-fact way, "is
not likely to trouble a Highlander's conscience much. But I dare say he
thinks the Government can get along well enough without taking any more
taxation from these poor people; and I have no doubt he says to himself
that if he pays for a bottle of good brandy for some poor woman with
ague or rheumatism in her old joints, the Government can afford to let
her have it without the duty. In a climate like this you must have
spirits of some kind; and as I was saying to Mrs. MacVean, good brandy
is better than bad whisky filled with fusel oil."
"I know perfectly well what his object is," Mary said, proudly and
indignantly. "His object is simply to steal away the hearts of the
people--and to stir up ill-will between them and whoever happens to be
at Lochgarra House. They are all his friends--and my enemies. He can
shoot and fish wherever he pleases; he has the run of the whole estate;
he is welcome at every fireside; whilst I, when I want to lower the
rents, and better the condition of the people in every way, and be their
friend--well, I am kept outside at the door, and if I say 'Am I
welcome?' there is no answer. For him--everything: for me--nothing.
And I think it is hardly fair."
She spoke in a proud and hurt way, and her lips trembled for an instant:
it was clear that she considered she had not deserved this ill-usage.
"No, no, no, Mary," her friend protested. "You are unjust, as far as Mr.
Ross is concerned anyway. For one thing it is very likely that the poor
people about here were accustomed to look to his mother for little
comforts when they fell ill; and he may be trying to carry out the same
kind of thing, in the only way that would occur to a man." Then a
demure smile came into Kaethchen's eyes. "But I will be honest with
you, Mary. I don't think it is done to spite you at all: although your
family have wrought him and his sufficient wrong. But if you were to
ask me if it wasn't done with a determination to spite Mr. Purdie--in
return for the destruction of the illicit stills--well, you see, people
may act from various motives, and I shouldn't be surprised if that had
something to do with it. As for stealing the hearts of the people--if
you knew the curious loyalty and devotion of the Highlanders towards the
old families, you would hardly think it necessary that Mr. Ross should
have to make use of any bribe----"
"But why should they hate me?" Mary exclaimed--and Kaethchen had no
answer.
However, if Miss Stanley had on one or two occasions suspected that the
presence of the detested factor might have something to do with the
failure of her efforts to cultivate amicable relations with her tenants,
here was an opportunity of seeing what she could do by herself; for on
their way back they again came to the small township of Minard, where
the amphibious population were busy in the crofts and along the shore.
She dismissed the carriage; and proceeded to make a few friendly little
calls--guarding carefully against any appearance of intrusion, and,
indeed, almost humbly begging for something of consideration and
good-will. And she was resolved to take no heed of any surly manners or
uncivil speech; for she was of a large, bland, magnanimous nature; and
she had a considerable fund of patience, and gentleness, and sweetness,
to draw upon. Then she had to remember that her uncle had been
unpopular, and had no doubt amply earned his unpopularity. Moreover, a
factor who stands between a wilful and domineering landlord and a
tenantry not in the happiest condition, is most invidiously situated: he
is the universal scapegoat, and is bound to be hated as well as feared.
But here was she willing to make what atonement was possible; ready to
sacrifice her own interests for the general good; and above all things
anxious to make friends. With gifts in both hands, ought she not to
have been welcome at every door? Then she was pleasant to look upon; her
manner was gracious and winning; her eyes were kind. With the small
children she could get on well enough: they knew nothing of any
deep-slumbering feud.
But her charm of manner, her wonder-working smile, her unfailing
good-humour, that had made life easy for her elsewhere, seemed to be of
no avail here--with the grown-up folk, at all events. Not that they
were rude: they were merely obdurate and silent. Of course, when she
got this one or that pinned by a direct question, he did not absolutely
refuse to reply; but their answers were so contradictory, and their
demands in most cases so impossible, that no practical enlightenment was
possible. One man wanted more boats from the Government; another said
that more boats were of no use unless the Government supplied nets as
well; a third said boats and nets were valueless unless they had a
steamer calling daily. There was also a demand that the Government
should build more harbours; and when Mary said, in reply to this, that
she understood the harbours they had got--Lochgarra, that is to say, and
Camus Bheag--to be about as excellent as any in the West Highlands, she
was answered that the harbours were perhaps good enough--if there was a
railway. Then there were some who did not seem to have any occupation
at all.
"Don't you have anything to work at?" she said, to one tall and rather
good-looking young fellow, who was standing looking on at the women and
girls gathering the sea-tangle.
"My father has a croft," he made answer, in a listless way.
"But wouldn't you," she said, in a very gentle and hesitating manner, so
as not to seem impertinent, "wouldn't you rather go away and find some
work for yourself?"
"Aw, well, I was at Glasgow, and I was getting twenty shillings a week
there."
"And you did not stay?"
"Well, I could not live there," he said, simply enough. "It is no use
getting twenty shillings a week if you cannot live in a place; and in a
few years I would be dead, if I was living in Glasgow. I am better to
be alive here than dead in Glasgow."
"Then perhaps you go to the East Coast fishing?" she suggested.
"No, I am not going there now. I was there one or two years, but it did
not pay me."
"And don't you do anything?" she asked again.
"Well, in January I am in the Naval Reserve."
"And the rest of the year you don't do anything?"
"Well, my father has a croft"--and that was about all the information
she could extract from him.
As a final attempt she said to him, timidly--
"If I were to try to get you a boat and nets from the Government, would
it be of service to you?"
"It would need eight of a crew," said he, with an obvious lack of
interest, "and I would not be knowing where to find them."
However, a great surprise was in store for her: before getting back to
Lochgarra on this occasion she actually encountered a human being who
received her proffered friendliness and good-will with cheerful and
unhesitating gratitude, and responded with a frank comradeship that
quite won her heart. It is true the man was drunk; but at first she did
not perceive that; and indeed she was ready to make ample allowances in
her eager desire to establish pleasant relations with anybody, after the
disheartening coldness she had just experienced at Minard. This man
whom she and Kaethchen overtook on their homeward way was a huge,
lumbering, heavy-shouldered giant, with a prodigious brown beard and
thick eyebrows, whose deep-set grey eyes (though a little bemused)
looked at once intelligent and amiable. On his shoulder he had hoisted
a rough wooden box; and as he trudged along he smoked a small black clay
pipe.
"Good-day to you!" said Mary to the giant.
"Aw, good-deh, good-deh, mem!" said he, with a broad grin of welcome,
and he instantly put the pipe in his pocket.
"That is a heavy box you are carrying," said she; "I wish I were
driving, and I would take it along for you."
"Aw, it's glad I am I hef something to carry," said he, in a strong
Argyllshire accent, "and I wass thinking that mebbe Miss Stanley herself
would be for tekkin a lobster or two from me, for the house. Aw, I'll
not be charging Miss Stanley mich for them--no, nor anything at ahl, if
Miss Stanley would be for tekkin a lobster or two from me----"
"Oh, these are lobsters?" said she, with the most friendly interest.
"Ay, chist that," said the giant.
"And you will be sending them away by the mail-cart?" she asked.
"Ay, chist that--it's to London I am sending them."
"Oh, really," she said. "All the way to London? Well, now, I wonder if
you would think me inquisitive or impertinent if I asked you how much
you get for them?"
"How much? Aw, chist two-and-sixpence the dissen," said he, in a
good-natured fashion, as if he hardly expected to get anything.
But Mary was most indignant.
"What?" she said. "Two-and-sixpence the dozen? It's monstrous! Why,
it's downright robbery! I will write to the London papers.
Two-and-sixpence a dozen?--and a single lobster selling in London for
eighteenpence or two shillings, and that a small one, too. Isn't it too
bad, Kaethchen? I will write to the newspapers--I will not allow such
robbery."
"It is a long weh of communigation," said the big, heavy-shouldered,
good-humoured-looking man; "and Mr. Corstorphine he paying ahl the
carriage, and sending me the boxes."
"I will get you twice as much as that for the lobsters," said Mary, with
decision, "if I sell them among my own friends. I will guarantee you
twice as much as that, and I will pay the carriage, and get you the
boxes. What is your name?"
"Archie MacNicol, mem," said he; but the whisky had made him talkative,
and he went on: "I am from Tarbert on Loch Fyne; I am not from among
these people here at ahl. These people, they are not proper
fishermen--aw, they are afraid of the sea--they will not go far out--I
hef seen the East Coast men coming along here and tekkin the herring
from under their very eyes. There is one of the Government boats that
they got; and it is not paid for yet; and it is lying half-covered with
sand at Achnacross, and no one using it at ahl. Ay, and the curers
willing to give elevenpence a piece for ling. Ay, and I wass into Loch
Hourn, and I got fifty crans of herring, and I wass curing them myself--
"But wait a moment," said Mary, to whom this information seemed a little
confused. "If you are not tired, won't you keep on your way to the
village, and we will walk with you? You see, I am anxious to get all the
information I can about this place; and the people here don't seem to be
very communicative--although it is altogether in their own interests
that I should like to make inquiries. But they appear to be afraid of
me--or there is some quarrely or ill-will, that I don't understand----"
"A quarrel with Miss Stanley?" said the lobster-fisherman,
deprecatingly--for he was in a mellow and generous mood. "No, no--he
would be a foolish man that would be saying that!"
"Very well," said Mary, as they were all three going on to the village,
"tell me about your own circumstances. I want to know how I can be of
help to the people about here. I have not come to Lochgarra to raise
rents, and collect money, and take it away and spend it in London. I
want to live here--if the people will let me; but I don't want to live
among continuous enmity and ill-will."
"Aw, yes, yes, to be sure, to be sure now!" said Archie, in the most
amiable way, and Mary was entirely grateful to him for his sympathy--it
was so unexpected.
"Tell me about your own circumstances," she went on. "Is there anything
I can do for you and the other lobster-fishermen?"
"Aw, Cosh!" he cried (but it was the whisky that was responsible: Archie
himself meant to be most polite). "Would Miss Stanley be doing this for
us, now--would she be writing a letter for us to the Fishery Board?"
"Oh, certainly," she answered with promptitude, "if that will be of any
service to you. What about?"
And here Big Archie (Gilleasbuig Mor, as they called him) in his
eagerness to tell his tale, stopped short, and deposited the lobster-box
in the road.
"It's this way now--that there will be many a brokken head before long
if something is not done. For they are coming from ahl quarters to the
lobster-fishing--stranchers that hef no business here at ahl; and they
are building huts; and where there is a hut there will soon be a house;
and it does not require the wise man of Mull to tell any one the truth
of that. Yes, and they will be saying they hef the right from the
Fishery Board; but as I am thinking that is nothing but lies; for how
can the Fishery Board give stranchers the right to come here and build
huts on the crofts above the shore--ay, and going on, and paying no
rent, either to Miss Stanley, or the crofter, or to any one? And Gillie
Ciotach and me, ay, and two or three of the young lads, we were saying
we would tek sticks and stones, and drive them into the sea--ay, though
there might be a bluidy nawse here and there; and others would be saying
no, that it was dancherous to do anything against the Fishery Board. And
would Miss Stanley be for sending a letter to the Board, to ask if it is
lies those people are telling us, and whether they can come and build a
hut whenever they like?"
"Certainly I will," said she. "Only, there is to be no fighting and
bloodshed, mind. Of course, the space occupied by a hut is a very
trifling matter: I suppose what you really object to is those strangers
coming to your lobster-ground?"
"Ay, chist that!" said Big Archie, eagerly.
"Very well. It seems to me quite absurd to think that the Fishery Board
should have given any one the right to build huts; however, I will
inquire; and then, if I get the answer I expect, you must go peaceably
and quietly to those people, and tell them they are mistaken, that they
have no right from the Fishery Board or from any one else, and that they
must leave----"
"Evictions!" said Kaethchen, under her breath: she saw trouble coming.
"Quite peaceably and quietly, you understand," Mary continued; "there
must be no broken heads or anything of that kind; you must tell the
people what the Fishery Board says, and then they will see that they are
bound to go."
"Ay, ay, chist whatever Miss Stanley pleases," said Big Archie; and
therewith he shouldered the heavy lobster-box again, and resumed his
patient trudge, while he proceeded to give Miss Stanley some further
information about those marauding fishermen and their evil ways.
But when they were nearing Lochgarra, Mary, who had been rather silent
and abstracted for some little time back, said to him,--
"I suppose you have a boat, Mr. MacNicol?"
"Aw, ay, and a fine boat too," said Archie. "And if Miss Stanley herself
would be wishing for a sail, I would bring the boat round from Camus
Bheag."
"That is just what I have been thinking of," Mary said: they were now
come in sight of the sea, and she was absently looking out towards the
horizon.
"Ay, chist any time that Miss Stanley pleases, and I will not be
charging anything," said the good-natured giant with the friendly (and
bemused) eyes. "Aw, naw, there would be no charge at ahl--but chist a
gless of whisky when we come ashore."
"Oh, I must pay you for your time, of course," said she, briefly. "I
suppose you could bring your boat round this evening so that my friend
and myself might start pretty early to-morrow morning? We should be
ready by ten."
Kaethchen turned wondering eyes upon her.
"But where are you going, Mamie?"
"I am going out to Heimra Island," she said.