"Ah, the carriage?" said Mr. Pettigrew, thoughtfully, as he took down his hat from a peg in the lobby. "That is well considered—well considered. For if in their anger these misguided craytures should take to throwing of stons, the carriage could be closed. Ay, ay, that is very well now; and if their wrath should be intemperate—for who can gauge the stubbornness of man?—then the carriage can be driven away at any moment. But what a sad thing to think of—sad thing!—when all might be dwelling in peace and ahmity—in peace and ahmity." However, it was no consideration of personal safety that was uppermost in Mary Stanley’s mind at this moment; indeed, so anxious was she to overtake the rioters that she and her two companions had very nearly got back to Lochgarra House before they met the carriage. Then the horses were turned round; and on they drove—past the brawling stream—past the larchwoods—and up to the height commanding a view of Minard Bay. And here, at the top, they encountered the first human being of whom they could ask the news. It was John the policeman. The plump, roseate, good-natured Iain was calmly seated on a low wall by the roadside; and he was unconcernedly regarding the wide stretch of white sand across which some small black figures were now seen to be in motion. "What are you doing here, John?" said Mary, indignantly. "I was just looking," said Iain, with an amiable smile—and he glanced in the direction of the people crossing the white sands. "Yes, but why are you waiting here?" said she. "Don’t you know that there is likely to be fighting? And it is your duty to prevent that!" "They will be telling me," said Iain, slowly and comfortably, "that the strange fishermen have no right to be in the place. Very well, then. And if they are to be put out of the place, it’s not for me to interfere. If they are wrong, let them go aweh; and if they will not go aweh, they will have to be put aweh." This seemed a sound argument—to John. "But what did the Lochgarra people say to you as they went by?" Mary demanded. "Didn’t you see they were armed with sticks? Don’t you know there will be fighting and bloodshed?" "Aw, there may be a brokken head or two," said John, with a demure smile. "Well, it is your duty to prevent that! These men have no right to take the law into their own hand. If the strangers will not go peaceably, they must be removed by the law—not by beating them with sticks. And you are standing back here—and letting them do what they like!" "And if they tek to fighting," said John, "it’s not me that can stop them." This also seemed painfully true. "But you can do something," she insisted. "You can warn them. You can take their names. You can threaten them with a prosecution. You can tell them that—that—Mr. Pettigrew, who is it that prosecutes here?—the Sheriff at Dingwall?"