"Ye’ve never forgiven the folk out there," said Mr. Watson, with an amused and demure air, "since the procession and the burning in effigy. Dod, that was a queer business!—I heard of it away up in Caithness. But I’m thinking ye might let bygones be bygones; ye’ve had them under your thumb a good while now—and—and—well, ye might consider that ye’ve paid off that score. But as for the young leddy—well, I tell ye, friend Purdie, it’s just wonderful what she has done since she cam’ to the place. A busy, industrious creature; ay, and she has a way of talking folk over to her way of thinking; she seems to get on famously wi’ them, though they cannot have too friendly recollections of her uncle. Yes, I will say that for her: an active, well-meaning creature; and light-hearted as a lintie; dod, she takes her own way, and gets it too! But I’m thinking there’s a great deal owing to young Mr. Ross—he goes about wi’ her just conteenually." "Ay," said the factor, with a malignant scowl, "I’m told my young gentleman doesna shut himself up as much wi’ his brandy-drinking as he used to do. So he comes over to the mainland sometimes, and goes about wi’ her, does he?" "Faith, ye may say that," Mr. Watson made answer, with a laugh. "They’re just insayperable, as ye might say, any time that he comes over from Heimra, and that’s often enough." He regarded the factor curiously. "Purdie, my man, that’s going to be a match." For a second Purdie looked startled and incredulous, but instantly he lowered his eyes again. "It’s a match, Purdie, depend on’t," Mr. Watson proceeded, still looking at his companion with an odd sort of scrutiny. "And I have been thinking, if such a thing were to come about, it might be a wee bit difficult for you—with young Ross the master at Lochgarra, eh? What d’ye think? Dod, ye’d have to make friends with him and keep a civil tongue besides, or he might be for bringing up old scores." Mr. Purdie’s dinner did not seem to interest him much after that. He remained plunged in a profound reverie, with his truculent mouth drawn down, the shaggy red eyebrows shading the small irascible eyes that were now grown intent and thoughtful. And when at length Mr. Watson haled him off to the smoking-room he did not speak for some considerable time. But by and by he said— "Are ye off by the early train to-morrow, Watson?" "Yes, indeed.’ "And you go right through?" "Just that." "Well, I think I’ll bear ye company," said the Troich Bheag Dhearg, with the heavily down-drawn mouth expressing something more than mere decision. "There’s a few things I want to see to. And I havena been out to Lochgarra for some time." CHAPTER VI. HABET! Mary went singing through the house: her step free and agile, her face radiant, her eyes shining with good-humour and the delight of life.