"Oh, but that is absurd, you know," Mary said, eagerly, and with a quick delight that she could enter into direct communication with him. "You forget—you are mistaken—my uncle bought the estate from the late Mr. Ross of Heimra. Surely you understand that? Surely you know that? The whole place was bought in open market. Mr. Ross sold the land, and all the rights belonging to it—yes, and the obligations, too; and my uncle bought it. Don’t you understand?" The man turned away his eyes, and sulkily muttered something in Gaelic. "What is it?" asked Mary, compelled to appeal once more to the factor. "Like the scoundrel’s impertinence!" said the Little Red Dwarf, darting an angry look at the crofter. "He says the Englishman—that is your uncle, Miss Stanley—the Englishman bought the land but not the hearts of the people." "And that is quite right!" Mary exclaimed. "That is quite right and true. Tell him I quite agree with him. But tell him this—tell him that if my uncle did not buy the hearts of the people, I mean to win them——" "Oh, Mary," Käthchen struck in, rather shamefacedly, "don’t talk like that! They won’t understand you. Be practical. Ask him what complaint he has to make about his farm—ask him what he wants——" "I can tell ye that beforehand!" said Mr. Purdie, in his irascible scorn. "He wants more arable land, and he wants more pasture; and both for nothing. And no doubt he would like a steam plough thrown in, and maybe a score or two o’ black-faced wethers——" But Mary interrupted. She had formed for herself some idea, before she came to this country, as to how she meant to proceed. "Mr. Purdie," said she, in her clear, firm way, "I wish you to ask this man if he has anything to complain of; and I wish you to tell me precisely what he says." The Troich Bheag Dhearg, being thus ordered, obeyed; but he scowled upon the stubborn crofter—and it was apparent there was no love lost on the other side either. At the end of their brief, and unwilling, conversation, the factor made his report. "Well, there are many things he would like—who could doubt that?—but in especial he wants the pasture of Meall-na-Cruagan divided amongst the crofters of this district, and the tax for the dyke taken off the rent. But Meall-na-Cruagan never did belong to the crofters at any time; and it is part of Mr. Watson’s sheep-farm—he has it under lease." "I will look into that afterwards," said she. "What is the tax you mentioned?" "Well, when the dyke along there—the embankment," said the factor, "was built to keep the river from flooding the land, the interest of the money expended was added on to the rents of the crofts, as was natural—and that’s what they call a tax!" "How long have they been paying that tax?" she asked. "It is about thirty years since the dyke was built."