And so, with some snack of luncheon in their pocket and a leather drinking-cup, and with their waterproofs over their arm, they set out—the sunlight pleasant around them, an odour of seaweed in the air. This was to be a little bit of a holiday: for this one day, at least, there were to be no persistent and patient questions met by sullen replies, no timid proffers of friendship answered by obdurate silence. And yet as they neared the village, Mary was reminded of her perplexities, and griefs, and disappointments; for here was the solitary policeman of the place, standing outside the small building that served him for both police-office and dwelling-house. John, as he was simply called—or more generally, Iain—was not at all a terrible-looking person; on the contrary he was quite a young man, very sleek and fat and roseate, with rather a merry blue eye, and a general appearance of good-nature: a stout, wholesome-complexioned, good-humoured young man, who was evidently largely acquainted with the virtues of porridge and fresh milk. When Mary saw him, she said,— "Well, Käthchen, if they’re all in league against me, even my own gamekeepers, to screen the poaching that is going on, I will appeal to the policeman. He is bound to put down thieving of every kind." "You’d better not, Mamie," was the instant rejoinder. "It would be very awkward if a question were asked in the House of Commons—about a Highland proprietor who had the shameless audacity to ask Her Majesty’s own representative to watch a salmon-river in place of the ordinary keepers." However, this project came to nothing in the present case; for as they drew near they found that the belted guardian of the peace was himself in dire trouble. An elderly woman—no doubt his mother—had opened an upper window in the small two-storeyed building; and she was haranguing and scolding him with an unheard-of volubility. What it was all about, neither Käthchen nor Mary had the least idea, for the old woman was rating him in Gaelic; but John, seeing the young ladies approach, grew more and more roseate and embarrassed. Of course he pretended not to hear. He gazed out towards Heimra Island. Then with his stick he prodded at the mass of seaweed by the roadside that was waiting there to be carted away. And then he smiled in a tolerant manner, as if all this tempest were rather amusing; and finally, not being able, in such humiliating circumstances, to face the two ladies, the upholder of the majesty of the law turned and beat a speedy retreat, hiding himself in the lower floor of the house until they should pass. So that on this occasion Mary had no chance of asking Iain whether he would catch poachers for her.