The boat—a twelve-footer or thereabouts—had been stowed on deck; but they soon had her launched over the side, and everything put ship-shape and in readiness. And presently the young man who had gone down into the cabin re-appeared again; he threw some things into the boat, and took his place in the stern-sheets; the men shoved off, and presently they were well on their way to the beach, where there was a rudely-formed slip. By this time the streaks of lemon-hued light that had appeared in the west were dying away; darkness was coming over land and sea; already, in the east, one or two stars were visible between the thinning and breaking clouds. Young Ross landed at the slip, and made his way up to a level plateau on which stood a long, rambling, one-storeyed building mostly of timber: a sort of bungalow, with a slated porch, and with some little pretence of a garden round it, though at this time of the year nothing, of course, was visible in it but a few leafless bushes. At the door stood an old woman neatly and smartly dressed, whose eyes were still expressive enough to show how pleased she was. "Good evening to you, Martha," said he in Gaelic, "and I hope you are well." "Indeed I am all the better for seeing you back, sir," replied the old woman, with many smiles. "The house is no house at all when you are away." She followed him obsequiously into the narrow hall. He only glanced at the newspapers and letters on the table. But there was something else there—a brace of grouse. "Will I cook one of the birds for Mr. Ross’s dinner?" she asked, her Highland politeness causing her to address him in the third person. A quick frown came over his face. "Who brought these here?" he demanded. "Oh, well—they were left," said old Martha, evasively. "Yes, yes, left; but who left them?" he asked again. "Oh, well; maybe it was the Lochgarra keepers," said she. "The keepers? Nonsense!" he said angrily. "Do you tell me the keepers would shoot grouse at this time of the year, when the birds have paired, and soon will be nesting? It was Gillie Ciotach,[#] I’ll be bound. Now you will tell the Gillie Ciotach, Martha, that if he does not stop his tricks I will have him sent across the land to go before the Sheriff at Dingwall; and how will he like that?" [#] _Gillie Ciotach_—the left-handed young man. "Oh, well, indeed, sir," said Martha, in a deprecating way, "the poor young lad meant no harm. He was coming over here anyway, because he lost a dog, and he was wishing to find the dog." At this the young master burst out laughing.