"Now listen," said he. "This is what I wish to say to you, Coinneach. When Purdie comes to Lochgarra with the lady who is the new proprietor, that would be a very good time indeed for widow Mac Vean to ask them to give her a cow in place of the one that she lost in the Meall-na-Fearn bog. Maybe they will give the poor woman a cow; and she will pay them back bit by bit if they allow her time."
"It is of no use asking the Little Red Dwarf for anything," said Coinneach, sullenly. "There is no goodwill in his heart towards the people. Nor is there any goodwill in their hearts towards him—God forbid that there should be any such thing. Indeed, now, there is something I could say about the Little Red Dwarf—But it does not serve to talk."
"What were you going to say, Coinneach?" the young master demanded—knowing Coinneach's ways.
"Oh, perhaps Mr. Ross would not like to hear," said Coinneach, evasively.
"Indeed, but I wish to hear. Now what is it you have to tell me about the Troich Bheag Dhearg?"
Coinneach was silent for a second or two.
"Well," said he, slowly, "it was some of the young lads they were saying that it only wanted a word from Mr. Ross. Yes; they were saying that. It was just a word from Mr. Ross; and they would see that the Little Red Devil did not trouble anyone any more, neither in this nor in any other country."
"Oh, indeed," said the master, placidly. "Then it is a murder the Gillie Ciotach and the rest of them are for planning—is that what you have to tell me?"
"I would not give a thing a bad name," said Coinneach, as he laboured at the oar. "No, no; they were not talking of a murder, or any bad thing like that. But—but there might be an accident; and a very good thing, too, if an accident happened to the Little Red Dwarf!"
"And what kind of an accident?"