A great event happened this afternoon—nothing less than the arrival from the South of Mr. Watson, the sheep-farmer, Miss Stanley’s principal tenant. The two girls had landed from the boat, walked along the shore, and were just about turning off towards Lochgarra House, when they were overtaken by some one riding a stout and serviceable little cob; and Mary instantly guessed who this must be—for persons on horseback are rare at Lochgarra. The stranger lifted his hat, but did not draw rein. "Mr. Watson," said she—looking towards him with a plain intimation that she desired to speak with him. Mr. Watson immediately pulled up, dismounted, and came towards her, leading the cob by the bridle. He was a middle-aged man with a fresh complexion, grizzled hair, short whiskers, and shrewd blue eyes—looking prosperous and well-satisfied with himself, and with some little turn for jocosity about his firmly-set lips. "I beg your pardon," she said, with a little embarrassment, "but—I wished to speak with you——" "Miss Stanley?—I am glad to make your acquaintance," said he, in a marked south-country accent. And he bowed to Miss Stanley’s companion. "Won’t you come into the house for a moment or two?" said Mary, with a vague notion that she ought to be polite to a tenant who paid her £1400 a year: moreover, she had ulterior ends in view. Mr. Watson consented; Mary went and called a gardener, who took charge of the cob; and then the two young ladies and the farmer proceeded up the stone steps, and through the hall, and into the wide hexagonal drawing-room in the tower. Then she asked him to be seated, adding some vague suggestion about a glass of wine and a biscuit after his ride. "No, I thank ye," said Mr. Watson. "I am a teetotaller—not an ordinary thing in these parts. Ay, and a vegetarian. But I practise—I don’t preach," he explained, with a complacent smile; "so I do no harm to other folk. Both things suit me; but I let other people alone. That’s the fair way in the world." "I wanted to ask you, Mr. Watson," said she, with a certain timidity, "whether you would be disposed to give up the pasturage of Meall-na-Cruagan?" In a second the shrewd and humorous blue eyes had become strictly observant and business-like. "To give it up?" he said, slowly. "I mean," she interposed, "at a valuation. I know it is yours under the lease; we cannot disturb you; nor should I wish to do so, except entirely with your own goodwill." "Miss Stanley," said he, "I will ask ye a plain question: what for do ye want me to give up the Meall-na-Cruagan?" "The crofters——"