As the drove on again, the afternoon seemed inclined to clear; the skies were banking up; and there were faint streaks of lemon-yellow among the heavy purple clouds in the west. And very soon the road made a sweep to the left, bringing them in sight of the Connan, a small but turbulent tributary of the Garra. Here, also, they encountered the first signs of the habitations of men—little clumps of buildings clustered together just over a stretch of flat land that had clearly been recovered from the river-bed. Crofts, no doubt: each slated cottage surrounded by its huddled dependency of thatched barns and byres. As the waggonette drew near to the first of these rude little settlements, the women disappeared into the outhouses, and the children hid behind the peat-stack; but there remained standing at the door of the cottage an elderly man, who regarded the strangers with a grave and perhaps rather sullen curiosity. "Mr. Purdie," said Mary, in an undertone, "is that one of my tenants?" "Yes, certainly—that is James Macdonald." "I wish to make his acquaintance," said she; and she stopped the carriage, and got out. There was no sort of fear, or unnecessary bashfulness, about this young woman. She walked right up the bank to the door of the cottage. The short thick-set man standing there had something of a Russian cast of countenance, with a heavy grey beard, shaggy eyebrows, and small, suspicious eyes. His clothes were weather-worn as to colour and much mended; but they were not in the least squalid; and he had a red woollen comforter round his neck. "Good evening!" said she, with a most winning smile. But the propitiating dimple, that had hitherto been all-conquering, was of no avail here. He looked at her. He did not raise his cap. "_Cha ’n ’eil beurla agam_," said he, with a sort of affected indifference. She was taken aback only for a moment. "What does he say?" she asked of Mr. Purdie, who had followed her. "He says he has no English," the factor answered; and then he added, vindictively: "But he would have plenty of English if he wanted to tell you of his grievances—oh, ay, plenty! Start him on that, and he’ll find plenty of English! He’s one of the most ill-condeetioned men in the whole place—and I suppose he has enough English to understand that!" "Tell him who I am," said she, rather disappointedly; for she had set out with the determination to get to know all the circumstances and wants and wishes of her tenants, especially of the poorer ones, without the intervention of any factor. Hereupon Mr. Purdie, in unnecessarily severe tones, as it seemed to her, addressed a few sentences in Gaelic to the stubborn-looking old man, who, in turn—and with no abatement of his hostile attitude—replied in the same tongue. But to Mary’s surprise, he suddenly added—fixing morose eyes upon her— "She—no my laird! Ross of Heimra—my laird. Young Donald—he my laird. She no my laird at ahl!"