And now they came upon Käthchen, who was standing as one paralyzed, gazing upon the excited crowd who were collected round the burning huts, and listening to their shouts and laughter. The moment she turned, she caught sight of Mary’s hand, and uttered a quick cry of alarm. "It is nothing, Käthchen," her friend said, "only I wish you’d tie this handkerchief round my wrist—and pull it tight; it will hurt less then." "What made you go away down there, Mamie?" said Käthchen, in her distress. "I—wanted to stay by your side—but—but I could not face the stones. It was madness—" "They did not intend to strike me," said Mary (whose shoulder was aching cruelly, as well as her wrist). "These poor men, they have nothing left now but their boats." And then she demanded: "But where was that booby of a policeman?—why did he not prevent them setting fire to the huts? And where is the Minister?" Käthchen did not know; nor did she care much; all her interests were engrossed by the strange scene being enacted up there among the rocky knolls. For, despite the petroleum, and the heaping-on of lobster-creels and float-barrels, the huts did not burn well; the rain of the previous night had soddened the thatch, and perhaps the interiors were none too dry at the best of times; so that the incendiaries had to keep opening up draught-holes, or flinging on more petroleum, in order to encourage the flames. And then again that proved too slow work for their impatience. They got poles and broken oars to use as battering-rams; they charged the ineffectual doors, and tore down the smouldering roofs; and when the demolition of this or that rude dwelling was complete, there were loud and triumphant cheers. Mary did not seek to interpose. It was too late now. She looked on sadly, wondering what the poor wretches down by the boats were thinking, and not without some half-terrified consciousness that she was answerable for all this wreck and ruin. "It is shameful!—it is shameful!" she said—almost to herself. "Well, mem," said Big Archie, who still remained with the two young ladies, "I will ask you this—when you will find a wasps’ nest in your garden, what will you do? You will not be for going forward and telling them they were right in tekkin up the place, and that you will not disturb them; aw, no!—I think it is a bunch of straw you will be carrying to the place, and setting a light to it, and putting the nest on fire. Aw, Cosh, that is the sure weh to get rid of them—" "But these were not wasps—these were men like yourselves," said she, sharply. "They have as much right to live as you—" "Ay," said Big Archie, scratching his head in assumed perplexity, "mebbe they hef as much right to live as we hef—but _not there_. For it wass Miss Stanley herself that would be saying that." Mary’s face flushed.