"As for pasture land," said Käthchen, in an undertone, as they were leaving one of these poor steadings, "I don’t know whether you will be able to persuade Mr. Watson to give up a slice of his sheep-farm; but as regards arable land, Mary, you should tell those people they have made a mistake about you. You are not the Creator of the Universe: you can’t make arable land out of nothing." "Don’t be profane," said Mary, severely. "And mind, I’m not going to have any giggling disparagement of my work: I can tell you, it promises to be very serious." Serious enough! When they got back to Lochgarra House in the afternoon, her head was fairly in a whirl with conflicting statements and conflicting demands. She knew not how or where to begin; the future seemed all in a maze; while the personal reception accorded her (though she tried to think nothing of that for the moment) had been distinctly repellent. And yet, not satisfied with this long day’s work, she would go down to the village in the evening, to see what was expected of her there. "I suppose I can interfere?" she said, to Mr. Purdie, who was having tea with them. "Beg pardon?" "I suppose I can interfere? The village belongs to me, does it not?" she demanded. "In a measure it does," said the factor. "Of course you are the Superior; but where feus have been granted, they have the land in perpetuity, while you have only the rent——" "Oh, I can’t interfere, then?" said she, with some disappointment that her sphere of activity seemed limited in that direction. "You can step in to see that the conditions of the leases have been respected——" "But I can’t do things? "They’ll let you do whatever ye like—so long as it means spending money on them," said Mr. Purdie, with grim sarcasm. "The inn, for example?" "The inn is different. We built the inn. The landlord is only a yearly tenant." "We will go down and see him at once, if you please, Mr. Purdie," said Mary, with promptitude. "I have a scheme in my head. Käthchen, are you tired?" Kate laughed, and dragged herself from her chair. Indeed, she was dead tired; but none the less she was determined to see this thing out. So the three of them proceeded along to the village as far as the inn—which was a plain little two-storeyed building, with not even a sign hanging over the door; and there they went into the stuffy little parlour, and sate down, Mr. Purdie ringing the bell and sending for the landlord. "Aren’t those things dreadful?" said Mary, glancing around at the hideous stone and china ornaments on the mantelshelf and elsewhere—pink greyhounds chasing a yellow hare; bronze stags that could only have been designed in wild delirium; impossible white poodles on a ground of cobalt blue, and the like; while on the walls were two gaudy lithographs—German-looking nymphs with actual spangles in their hair and bits of gold and crimson tinsel round their neck. "I must have all this altered throughout the cottages——"