"Please, laird, it was myself brought Craftie; she was not willing to come!"
"Craftie," said the chief, "I wish I could make a friend of you! But you know I can't!"
"I do know it, Macruadh, and I am sorry for it, many is the good time! But my door never had any latch, and the word is out before I can think to keep it back!"
"And so you send another and another to back the first! Ah, Craftie!
If purgatory don't do something for you, then—!"
"Indeed and I hope I shall fall into it on my way farther, chief!" said Craftie, who happened to be a catholic.
"But now," resumed the chief, "when will you be going for the rest of your peats?"
"They're sure to be on the watch for us; and there's no saying what they mightn't do another time!" was the indirect and hesitating answer.
"I will go with you."
"When you please, then, chief."
So the next day the poor women went again, and the chief went with them, their guard and servant. If there were any on the watch, they did not appear. The Macruadh fished out their creels, and put them to dry, then helped them to fill those they had borrowed for the occasion. Returning, he carried now the one, now the other creel, so that one of the women was always free. The new laird met them on the road, and recognized with a scornful pleasure the chief bending under his burden. That was the fellow who would so fain be HIS son-in-law!