"Gaelic," observed Kate, sententiously, "is a very intricate key; and then when you’ve got it, and put it in the lock, and turned it, you find the cupboard empty." "Perhaps so with regard to literature—I do not know; but I want to be able to talk to the people here, without the intervention of an interpreter. Barbara," said she, to the parlour-maid, who had come into the room again, "do you know what _bentyurna veen_ is?" "_Baintighearna mhin_?" said Barbara, with a smile. "Oh, that is ’the gentle lady,’ And that is what Anna Chlannach would be calling Miss Stanley, I have no doubt of that." "Well, now, Barbara," Mary continued, "you must tell me how to say this in Gaelic—’_Am I welcome?_’ What is that in Gaelic?" But here Barbara became very much embarrassed. "I am sure it is not necessary that Miss Stanley should say that—oh no, indeed," she answered with averted eyes. "I am not so sure," said Mary, in her direct way. "I hope the time will come when I shall not have to ask such a question in going into any one’s cottage; but at present I am a stranger, and I must make my way gradually. Now, Barbara, what is the Gaelic for ’Am I welcome?" But still Barbara hesitated. "If you would ask Mr. Purdie, ma’am, he would give you the good Gaelic." "No, I will not," said the imperative young mistress. "I dare say your Gaelic is quite as good as Mr. Purdie’s." "And you would be saying ’Am I welcome?’ in going into a house?" said Barbara, slowly—for translation is a serious difficulty to the untutored mind. "Oh, I think you would just say ’_An e mo bheatha?_’; but why would Miss Stanley be saying such a thing as that?" "’_An e mo bheatha?_’—is that right? Very well!" "And how will you understand their answer, Mamie?" Kate Glendinning asked. "I will read that in their faces," was the reply. It was quite clear that the young proprietress had in no wise been disheartened by that first interview with one of her tenants on the previous evening. This fair-shining morning found her as full of ardent enthusiasm, of generous aspirations, as ever; and here was the carriage awaiting them; and here was Mr. Purdie, obsequious; and even Käthchen looked forward with eagerness to getting a general view of the estate. Then their setting forth was entirely cheerful; the Spring air was sweet around them; the sunlight lay warm on the larches and on the tall and thick-stemmed bushes of gorse that were all a blaze of gold. But it was not of landscape that Mary Stanley was thinking; it was of human beings; and the first human being she saw was a little old woman who was patiently trudging along with a heavy creel of peats strapped on her back. "The poor old woman!" she exclaimed, with an infinite compassion in her eyes. "Doesn’t it seem hard she should have to work at her time of life?" "She’s a good deal better off than if she were in Seven Dials or the Bowery," said Käthchen. "But perhaps you would like to give her a seat in the carriage?"