But now it appears that one or two of the men have heard of a mysterious village lying somewhere inland from the mouth of the loch; and from a comparison of these vague rumours we gather that we may not be so far from civilisation after all. Perhaps we may once again behold loaf-bread. Visions of cutlets, fowls, grouse, and hares arise. We shall once more hear some echo of the distant world if perchance there be in the place a worn and ancient newspaper. "Ay," said the Laird, hastily. "I would like to see a Glasgow newspaper! I’m thinking they must have got the steam fire-engine by now; and fine games the bairns will have when they begin to practise with it, skelping about in the water. It would be a grand thing to try it in the public garden when we get it; it would keep the shrubs and the borders fine and wet—eh?" "And it would be quite as interesting as any plaster fountain," says his hostess, encouragingly. "As handsome every bit," says the Laird, laughing heartily at his play of imagination, "as any bit laddie done up in stucco, standing on one leg, and holding up a pipe! It’s a utilitarian age, ma’am—a utilitarian age; we will have instead of a fountain a steam fire-engine—very good! very good!—and they bodies who are always crying out against expenditure on decoration will be disappointed for once." The Laird had at last discovered the whereabouts of the mysterious village on the Admiralty chart. "But what newspaper will we get in a place hidden away like that?—out of the reach of all communication wi’ the world. They’ll be a century behind, mark my words. It is when ye live within a reasonable distance of a great centre of ceevilisation, like Glasgow, that ye feel the life of it stirring your own place too; and ye must keep up with the times; ye must be moving. Conservative as I am, there is no supersteetious obstinacy about me; moving—moving—that’s the word. The more important the matter in the interest of the public, the more necessary is it that we should have an impartial mind. If ye show me a new sort of asphalte, do ye think I would not examine it, jist because I recommended Jamieson and MacGregor’s patent?" He appealed boldly to his hostess. "Oh, certainly; certainly you would!" she says, with an earnestness that might have made Jamieson and MacGregor quail. "For three weeks," says the Laird, solemnly, "I was on that committee, until it seemed that my breakfast, and my dinner, and my supper every day was nothing but tar-smoke. What wi’ the experiments without and within, I was just filled with tar-smoke. And would ye believe it, ma’am, one o’ they Radical newspapers went as far as to say there were secret influences at work when Jamieson and MacGregor was decided on. My friends said, ’Prosecute the man for libel;’ but I said, ’No; let the poor crayture alone; he has got to earn his living!’" That was very wise of you, sir," says his hostess.