"And don't you do anything?" she asked again.
"Well, in January I am in the Naval Reserve."
"And the rest of the year you don't do anything?"
"Well, my father has a croft"—and that was about all the information she could extract from him.
As a final attempt she said to him, timidly—
"If I were to try to get you a boat and nets from the Government, would it be of service to you?"
"It would need eight of a crew," said he, with an obvious lack of interest, "and I would not be knowing where to find them."
However, a great surprise was in store for her: before getting back to Lochgarra on this occasion she actually encountered a human being who received her proffered friendliness and good-will with cheerful and unhesitating gratitude, and responded with a frank comradeship that quite won her heart. It is true the man was drunk; but at first she did not perceive that; and indeed she was ready to make ample allowances in her eager desire to establish pleasant relations with anybody, after the disheartening coldness she had just experienced at Minard. This man whom she and Käthchen overtook on their homeward way was a huge, lumbering, heavy-shouldered giant, with a prodigious brown beard and thick eyebrows, whose deep-set grey eyes (though a little bemused) looked at once intelligent and amiable. On his shoulder he had hoisted a rough wooden box; and as he trudged along he smoked a small black clay pipe.
"Good-day to you!" said Mary to the giant.
"Aw, good-deh, good-deh, mem!" said he, with a broad grin of welcome, and he instantly put the pipe in his pocket.