"A railway," said the tall, black-a-vised crofter.
"A railway?" she repeated.
"Ay—a railway to Bonar."
"A railway to Bonar Bridge?" she said, staring at the man. "Why, what good would that do you? Take your own case. You say you have nothing to sell. Even if there were a railway to Bonar Bridge—and there couldn't be, for the cost would be enormous, and there would be no traffic to speak of—but supposing there were a railway, how would that benefit you?"
He made no reply; he merely worked away with the long and narrow coulter, turning up the poor soil. So she saw it was no use arguing with him; she bade him a cheerful "Good-morning!" and came away again.
And with a right gallant courage did she continue her house-to-house visitation, desperately trying to win friends for herself, and wondering more and more that she was so ill received. She was not accustomed to sour looks and sullen manners; and in casting about for some possible reason for this strange behaviour she began to ask herself whether she might not get on better with these people if Mr. Purdie were well away back in his office in Inverness. One point struck her as being very peculiar; not a single man or woman of them asked for a reduction of rent. She thought that would have been the first thing for them to demand, and the simplest for her to consider; but it was never mentioned. They asked for all kinds of other things—when they would speak at all. They wanted herring-nets from the Government; they wanted more boats from the Government—and the instalments of repayment to be made smaller; they wanted the steamer to call in thrice a week, during the ling season; they wanted their arrears of debt to the curers to be wiped off; they wanted more pasture land; they wanted more arable land.
"As for pasture land," said Käthchen, in an undertone, as they were leaving one of these poor steadings, "I don't know whether you will be able to persuade Mr. Watson to give up a slice of his sheep-farm; but as regards arable land, Mary, you should tell those people they have made a mistake about you. You are not the Creator of the Universe: you can't make arable land out of nothing."
"Don't be profane," said Mary, severely. "And mind, I'm not going to have any giggling disparagement of my work: I can tell you, it promises to be very serious."
Serious enough! When they got back to Lochgarra House in the afternoon, her head was fairly in a whirl with conflicting statements and conflicting demands. She knew not how or where to begin; the future seemed all in a maze; while the personal reception accorded her (though she tried to think nothing of that for the moment) had been distinctly repellent. And yet, not satisfied with this long day's work, she would go down to the village in the evening, to see what was expected of her there.
"I suppose I can interfere?" she said, to Mr. Purdie, who was having tea with them.