You, too, George!--and be quick. Peats all around! there are plenty on the hearth!--How's the wind blowing?--You, Henry, make a few holes in the wall here, outside, and we'll set live peats in them. It's time there was an end to this!" "You're right; but there's a better way to end it!" returned one of the clan, and gave him a shove that sent him to the ground. "Men, do your duty!" cried Mr. Palmer from behind. "_I_ am here--to see you do it! Never mind the old woman! Of course she thinks it hard; but hard things have got to be done! it's the way of the world, and all for the best." "Mr. Palmer," said another of the clan, "the old woman has the right of you: she and hers have lived there, in that cottage, for nigh a hundred years." "She has no right. If she thinks she has, let her go to the law for it. In the meantime I choose to turn her off my land. What's mine's mine, as I mean every man jack of you to know--chief and beggar!" The Macruadh walked up to him. "Pardon me, sir," he said: "I doubt much if you have a legal right to disturb the poor woman. She has never paid rent for her hut, and it has always been looked upon as her property." "Then the chief that sold it swindled both me and her!" stammered Mr. Palmer, white with rage. "But as for you who call yourself a chief, you are the most insolent, ill-bred fellow I ever had to do with, and I have not another word to say to you!" A silence like that before a thunderstorm succeeded: not a man of the clan could for the moment trust his hearing. But there is nothing the Celtic nature resents like rudeness: half a dozen at once of the Macruadhs rushed upon the insulter of their chief, intent on his punishment. "One of you touch him," cried Alister, "and I will knock him down. I would if he were my foster-brother!" Each eager assailant stood like a block. "Finish your work, men!" shouted Mr. Palmer. To do him justice, he was no coward. "Clansmen," said the chief, "let him have his way. I do not see how to resist the wrong without bringing more evil upon us than we can meet. We must leave it to him who says 'Vengeance is mine.'" The Macruadhs murmured their obedience, and stood sullenly looking on. The disseizors went into the hut, and carried out the last of the fuel. Then they scooped holes in the turf walls, inside to leeward, outside to windward, and taking live peats from the hearth, put them in the holes. A few minutes, and poor Nannie's "holy and beautiful house" was a great fire. When they began to apply the peats, Alister would at once have taken the old woman away, but he dreaded an outbreak, and lingered. When the fire began to run up the roof, Mistress Conal broke from him, and darted to the door. Every one rushed to seize her, Mr. Palmer with the rest. "Blackie! Blackie! Blackie!" she shrieked like a madwoman.