"But you don’t know anything about land or estate management, Malcolm." "I know as much as some of the fellows of my acquaintance who fill fat billets. Meanwhile, I simply must have a fiver, Isla. I shan’t spend it, but a fellow can’t go about with empty pockets." She rose and, unlocking the old bureau, counted out five sovereigns from the little cash-box in the secret drawer. He took them without shame and even with a twinkle in his eye. "Pay Saturday! Well, good-bye, old girl. I’ll go out on the hunt and see whether I have any luck. I don’t mind telling you I’m rather building on this American chap. If he’s a millionaire I must try and coax him to disburse a little in this direction. I’ll ask him quite frankly whether he doesn’t want a handyman about the place. I could take on that job and fill it to a T." Isla did not demur, but her pride rose again in revolt at the thought of what Malcolm might do. She thought she did not wish to see anything more of the Americans. She would keep strictly to the letter of their bargain and leave them at Achree in peace. But if her observation was to any purpose she told herself that Malcolm would not make very much of Peter Rosmead, who was far too hard-headed a man to be taken in by his specious ways. She had a good many uncomfortable moments during the day, however, while contemplating possible interviews between Malcolm and Rosmead, all of which fell short of the actual happening. Malcolm went up to spend half an hour by his father’s bedside, making himself so charming that the old man was full of it when Isla came to see how he was getting on. Then he left the house and set off with a long swinging step to cover the distance between Creagh and Lochearn. He did not keep to the road. There was not a hill-path or a sheep-track in the district with which he had not been familiar since his boyhood. He came out just below Achree, deciding that he would go on to meet the post first and take it as he returned. About a quarter of a mile from the Lodge he met Donald Maclure driving some black-faced ewes in front of him, and he stopped to pass the time of day. Donald was a large, slow man, with a stolid face and a shock of red hair sticking out from under his broad bonnet, and he presented a sharp contrast to his trig and sonsy wife. Indeed, many had wondered how Elspeth had ever come to marry him and, above all, who had done the courting, Donald being the most silent man in the whole of the glens. "Hallo, Donald, how is the world using you?" cried Malcolm cheerily. "No sae pad, Maister Malcolm," Donald was forced to answer. "I heard ye gae by last nicht--at least Elspeth did. She wass oot wavin’ her hand." "I must go in and give her a kiss for that--eh, Donald? Where are you taking that nice-looking herd to?" "The other side of the little hill," answered Donald briefly.