"I told you they were wrong in thinking they had any right to be there; but I did not tell you to go and break out into lawlessness and set houses on fire with petroleum. Do you think that can be allowed? Do you think there is no government in this country? Do you think you can do just as you please? I tell you, the Sheriff from Dingwall will have to inquire into this matter." Gilleasbuig Mòr did not like the mention of Dingwall. "If it was brekkin the law," said he, rather gloomily, "it wass not us that wass brekkin it first. It was them fishermen. And now they can go aweh hom; and if they ever think of coming back here, they will remember the day they sah their houses on fire at Ru-Minard." The work of demolition was now complete. Smouldering thatch and blackened rafters strewed the ground; nothing remained erect but the rude stone walls; the alien colony had lost its habitation. And then the invaders formed once more into a sort of irregular procession; they shouldered their staves and clubs; three ringing cheers were given—as a significant message to their vanquished opponents, who still remained down by the boats; and then the victors set out on their homeward march, the Gillie Ciotach’s shrill voice leading off with "_Gabhaidh sinn an rathad mòr_"[#] while a rough and ready chorus was volunteered by the straggling ranks. Mary Stanley and Käthchen, accompanied by Big Archie, slowly followed, some distance intervening. In truth, Mary’s heart was as lead: all things seemed to be going so ill—in spite of her most patient and unselfish endeavours. [#] The chorus of this gay ditty has been thus Englished: "We will take the good old way, We will take the good old way, We will take the good old way, The way that lies before us; Climbing stiff the heathery ben, Winding swiftly down the glen, Should we meet with strangers then, Their gear will serve to store us!" And now they came upon Iain the policeman—bland, benign, complacent as usual. Iain had remained some little way apart, to let the rioters go by; his share in the day’s proceedings had been limited to a discreet and not unamiable observation. "What are you doing here?" said Mary. "Why did you not interfere before they had set the huts on fire? Don’t you see the mischief that has been done?" There was a whimsical, demure smile in Iain’s eyes. "I could not be tekkin up all them men," said he. "Then what are you put here for at all?" she demanded. "Why did they send you to Lochgarra if you have no authority? What use are you in the place?" Iain was far too smooth-tempered to take any umbrage. He did not even claim to be of any use. "Aw, well," said he—and he lifted up a bit of dried seaweed and slowly pulled it to pieces, "the people about Lochgarra, there is not much harm in them." "Do you call that no harm—setting fire to houses?" Iain hesitated—for he wished to be very respectful.