I aimed as well as I could for the smoke I had seen so often from the island; and with all my great weariness and the difficulty of the way came upon the house in the bottom of a little hollow about five or six at night. It was low and longish, roofed with turf and built of unmortared stones; and on a mound in front of it, an old gentleman sat smoking his pipe in the sun. With what little English he had, he gave me to understand that my shipmates had got safe ashore, and had broken bread in that very house on the day after. “Was there one,” I asked, “dressed like a gentleman?” He said they all wore rough great-coats; but to be sure, the first of them, the one that came alone, wore breeches and stockings, while the rest had sailors’ trousers. “Ah,” said I, “and he would have a feathered hat?” He told me, no, that he was bareheaded like myself. At first I thought Alan might have lost his hat; and then the rain came in my mind, and I judged it more likely he had it out of harm’s way under his great-coat. This set me smiling, partly because my friend was safe, partly to think of his vanity in dress. And then the old gentleman clapped his hand to his brow, and cried out that I must be the lad with the silver button. “Why, yes!” said I, in some wonder. “Well, then,” said the old gentleman, “I have a word for you, that you are to follow your friend to his country, by Torosay.” He then asked me how I had fared, and I told him my tale. A south-country man would certainly have laughed; but this old gentleman (I call him so because of his manners, for his clothes were dropping off his back) heard me all through with nothing but gravity and pity. When I had done, he took me by the hand, led me into his hut (it was no better) and presented me before his wife, as if she had been the Queen and I a duke. The good woman set oat-bread before me and a cold grouse, patting my shoulder and smiling to me all the time, for she had no English; and the old gentleman (not to be behind) brewed me a strong punch out of their country spirit. All the while I was eating, and after that when I was drinking the punch, I could scarce come to believe in my good fortune; and the house, though it was thick with the peat-smoke and as full of holes as a colander, seemed like a palace. The punch threw me in a strong sweat and a deep slumber; the good people let me lie; and it was near noon of the next day before I took the road, my throat already easier and my spirits quite restored by good fare and good news. The old gentleman, although I pressed him hard, would take no money, and gave me an old bonnet for my head; though I am free to own I was no sooner out of view of the house than I very jealously washed this gift of his in a wayside fountain. Thought I to myself: “If these are the wild Highlanders, I could wish my own folk wilder.”