Ella replied by opening a boarded window on one side of the cottage, through which was seen, at a little distance, a large well-built stack of peat. She next added some to her fire, that Mr. Callum might not have to complain that she grudged fuel in her hospitality. “And pray how does Fergus manage to get peat enough for everybody? He keeps within his boundary, I hope.” Ella was too much offended to answer otherwise than by pointing the way to the peat-land, where, however, the steward showed no inclination to go. “I would have him take care what he is about,” continued Callum. “I have the laird’s strict orders that the live turf is to be replaced over every inch from which peat is dug.” Ella observed that it was for Fergus’s interest to observe this rule on a land which he hoped to hold for a long time, since the peat could not otherwise be renewed. “No need to tell me that, Ella; but these youngsters are in such a hurry to cut, especially when they can sell, that they forget the law. Remember, if I find a foot bare, the peat-land is forfeited.” “Your threat is harsh, sir, and if you should act upon it, I should be obliged to appeal to the laird; but let us see whether Fergus has put himself in your power.” And she moved on. “What is all this?” cried the irritable steward, as they walked up the little sloping beach towards the back of the tenement. “Your brothers get the fairies to help them, I think. Who ever saw barley growing out of a round shingle,—clean shingle without any soil?” “My father saw it, as he used to tell us, in rocky places where soil was scarce; and when we found we could do little with our field this season, Ronald bethought himself of this plan; and it answers very well, you see. We laid down sea-weed pretty thick, and dropped our seed into it, and now the manure is changed into food for us.” “Poor grain enough,” said Callum. “Not so good as we hope to raise in our field, but good enough to be acceptable to those who would otherwise have none.” “And pray how long do you mean to let it stand? The wind will soon make it shed its grain, and then much good, may the straw do you!” Ella observed that it had been late sown, so that they were glad to let it stand to the last moment. The autumn was particularly serene and warm, so that the grain was still uninjured; but it was to be cut the next day but one, when she should have sold her fish and made room for her humble harvest.—What fish? and where was she going to sell it?—She had salted a cask of herrings, and was about to make a trip to the sloop from Glasgow now in the Sound to dispose of the produce of her fishing.