And indeed the girl's naturally sunny temperament soon broke through these bitter mortifications.
"After all, Käthchen," she said, "I have not quite lost a day: I was forgetting that I made one friend." There was an odd smile shining from behind her tears. "It is true she is half-witted; but all the same I am glad that Anna Chlannach seemed to approve of me."
CHAPTER V.
THE MEALL-NA-FEARN BOG.
And once again a wild, clear, breezy morning; the sea a more brilliant blue than ever; the heavy surge bursting like a bombshell on the rocks of Eilean Heimra, and springing some sixty or seventy feet in the air. Altogether a joyous and gladdening sight—from the several windows of this spacious room in the tower; but nevertheless Kate, who was far from being a foolish virgin, observed that the wind must have backed during the night to the south, and therefore she began to talk about waterproofs. For Mr. Purdie was leaving to-day; and the two girls, thrown upon their own resources, had planned an excursion to those portions of the estate they had not yet visited—the higher moorland districts; and of course that had to be accomplished on foot. They did not propose to take a guide with them; they would simply go along to the 'march' beyond the little hamlet of Cruagan, and follow the boundary line across the hills. Sooner or later they would strike either the Corrie Bhreag or Glen Orme, with the lower parts of which they were acquainted.
And so, with some snack of luncheon in their pocket and a leather drinking-cup, and with their waterproofs over their arm, they set out—the sunlight pleasant around them, an odour of seaweed in the air. This was to be a little bit of a holiday: for this one day, at least, there were to be no persistent and patient questions met by sullen replies, no timid proffers of friendship answered by obdurate silence. And yet as they neared the village, Mary was reminded of her perplexities, and griefs, and disappointments; for here was the solitary policeman of the place, standing outside the small building that served him for both police-office and dwelling-house. John, as he was simply called—or more generally, Iain—was not at all a terrible-looking person; on the contrary he was quite a young man, very sleek and fat and roseate, with rather a merry blue eye, and a general appearance of good-nature: a stout, wholesome-complexioned, good-humoured young man, who was evidently largely acquainted with the virtues of porridge and fresh milk. When Mary saw him, she said,—
"Well, Käthchen, if they're all in league against me, even my own gamekeepers, to screen the poaching that is going on, I will appeal to the policeman. He is bound to put down thieving of every kind."
"You'd better not, Mamie," was the instant rejoinder. "It would be very awkward if a question were asked in the House of Commons—about a Highland proprietor who had the shameless audacity to ask Her Majesty's own representative to watch a salmon-river in place of the ordinary keepers."
However, this project came to nothing in the present case; for as they drew near they found that the belted guardian of the peace was himself in dire trouble. An elderly woman—no doubt his mother—had opened an upper window in the small two-storeyed building; and she was haranguing and scolding him with an unheard-of volubility. What it was all about, neither Käthchen nor Mary had the least idea, for the old woman was rating him in Gaelic; but John, seeing the young ladies approach, grew more and more roseate and embarrassed. Of course he pretended not to hear. He gazed out towards Heimra Island. Then with his stick he prodded at the mass of seaweed by the roadside that was waiting there to be carted away. And then he smiled in a tolerant manner, as if all this tempest were rather amusing; and finally, not being able, in such humiliating circumstances, to face the two ladies, the upholder of the majesty of the law turned and beat a speedy retreat, hiding himself in the lower floor of the house until they should pass. So that on this occasion Mary had no chance of asking Iain whether he would catch poachers for her.
"I am sure," said she, as they were passing through the town, and over the Garra bridge, and up into the country beyond, "I do not care to preserve the game, if it were for myself alone. If I thought it would be really for the good of the people here, I would have every head of game on the estate destroyed, and every salmon netted out of the river. But you hear what they say themselves—many of them would never see money at all if it weren't for the gillies' wages, and the hiring of the ponies, and so on, in the autumn. Then the few deer that stray on to the ground, from the Glen Orme forest, they don't come near the crofts—they do no harm whatever, except, perhaps, to Mr. Watson's pasture, and he can easily get rid of them, if he likes, by saying a word to his shepherds. So that the shooting and the fishing are nothing but an advantage, and a very great advantage, to the people; and I tell you this, Käthchen, that I mean to preserve them as well as ever I can. And really it seems shameful that a gentleman in Mr. Ross's position should have so little self-respect as to become a common poacher—"