"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.
"That is a heavy box you are carrying," said she; "I wish I were driving, and I would take it along for you."
"Aw, it's glad I am I hef something to carry," said he, in a strong Argyllshire accent, "and I wass thinking that mebbe Miss Stanley herself would be for tekkin a lobster or two from me, for the house. Aw, I'll not be charging Miss Stanley mich for them – no, nor anything at ahl, if Miss Stanley would be for tekkin a lobster or two from me – "
"Oh, these are lobsters?" said she, with the most friendly interest.
"Ay, chist that," said the giant.
"And you will be sending them away by the mail-cart?" she asked.
"Ay, chist that – it's to London I am sending them."
"Oh, really," she said. "All the way to London? Well, now, I wonder if you would think me inquisitive or impertinent if I asked you how much you get for them?"
"How much? Aw, chist two-and-sixpence the dissen," said he, in a good-natured fashion, as if he hardly expected to get anything.
But Mary was most indignant.
"What?" she said. "Two-and-sixpence the dozen? It's monstrous! Why, it's downright robbery! I will write to the London papers. Two-and-sixpence a dozen? – and a single lobster selling in London for eighteenpence or two shillings, and that a small one, too. Isn't it too bad, Käthchen? I will write to the newspapers – I will not allow such robbery."
"It is a long weh of communigation," said the big, heavy-shouldered, good-humoured-looking man; "and Mr. Corstorphine he paying ahl the carriage, and sending me the boxes."
"I will get you twice as much as that for the lobsters," said Mary, with decision, "if I sell them among my own friends. I will guarantee you twice as much as that, and I will pay the carriage, and get you the boxes. What is your name?"
"Archie MacNicol, mem," said he; but the whisky had made him talkative, and he went on: "I am from Tarbert on Loch Fyne; I am not from among these people here at ahl. These people, they are not proper fishermen – aw, they are afraid of the sea – they will not go far out – I hef seen the East Coast men coming along here and tekkin the herring from under their very eyes. There is one of the Government boats that they got; and it is not paid for yet; and it is lying half-covered with sand at Achnacross, and no one using it at ahl. Ay, and the curers willing to give elevenpence a piece for ling. Ay, and I wass into Loch Hourn, and I got fifty crans of herring, and I wass curing them myself —
"But wait a moment," said Mary, to whom this information seemed a little confused. "If you are not tired, won't you keep on your way to the village, and we will walk with you? You see, I am anxious to get all the information I can about this place; and the people here don't seem to be very communicative – although it is altogether in their own interests that I should like to make inquiries. But they appear to be afraid of me – or there is some quarrely or ill-will, that I don't understand – "
"A quarrel with Miss Stanley?" said the lobster-fisherman, deprecatingly – for he was in a mellow and generous mood. "No, no – he would be a foolish man that would be saying that!"
"Very well," said Mary, as they were all three going on to the village, "tell me about your own circumstances. I want to know how I can be of help to the people about here. I have not come to Lochgarra to raise rents, and collect money, and take it away and spend it in London. I want to live here – if the people will let me; but I don't want to live among continuous enmity and ill-will."
"Aw, yes, yes, to be sure, to be sure now!" said Archie, in the most amiable way, and Mary was entirely grateful to him for his sympathy – it was so unexpected.
"Tell me about your own circumstances," she went on. "Is there anything I can do for you and the other lobster-fishermen?"
"Aw, Cosh!" he cried (but it was the whisky that was responsible: Archie himself meant to be most polite). "Would Miss Stanley be doing this for us, now – would she be writing a letter for us to the Fishery Board?"
"Oh, certainly," she answered with promptitude, "if that will be of any service to you. What about?"
And here Big Archie (Gilleasbuig Mòr, as they called him) in his eagerness to tell his tale, stopped short, and deposited the lobster-box in the road.
"It's this way now – that there will be many a brokken head before long if something is not done. For they are coming from ahl quarters to the lobster-fishing – stranchers that hef no business here at ahl; and they are building huts; and where there is a hut there will soon be a house; and it does not require the wise man of Mull to tell any one the truth of that. Yes, and they will be saying they hef the right from the Fishery Board; but as I am thinking that is nothing but lies; for how can the Fishery Board give stranchers the right to come here and build huts on the crofts above the shore – ay, and going on, and paying no rent, either to Miss Stanley, or the crofter, or to any one? And Gillie Ciotach and me, ay, and two or three of the young lads, we were saying we would tek sticks and stones, and drive them into the sea – ay, though there might be a bluidy nawse here and there; and others would be saying no, that it was dancherous to do anything against the Fishery Board. And would Miss Stanley be for sending a letter to the Board, to ask if it is lies those people are telling us, and whether they can come and build a hut whenever they like?"
"Certainly I will," said she. "Only, there is to be no fighting and bloodshed, mind. Of course, the space occupied by a hut is a very trifling matter: I suppose what you really object to is those strangers coming to your lobster-ground?"
"Ay, chist that!" said Big Archie, eagerly.
"Very well. It seems to me quite absurd to think that the Fishery Board should have given any one the right to build huts; however, I will inquire; and then, if I get the answer I expect, you must go peaceably and quietly to those people, and tell them they are mistaken, that they have no right from the Fishery Board or from any one else, and that they must leave – "
"Evictions!" said Käthchen, under her breath: she saw trouble coming.
"Quite peaceably and quietly, you understand," Mary continued; "there must be no broken heads or anything of that kind; you must tell the people what the Fishery Board says, and then they will see that they are bound to go."
"Ay, ay, chist whatever Miss Stanley pleases," said Big Archie; and therewith he shouldered the heavy lobster-box again, and resumed his patient trudge, while he proceeded to give Miss Stanley some further information about those marauding fishermen and their evil ways.
But when they were nearing Lochgarra, Mary, who had been rather silent and abstracted for some little time back, said to him, —
"I suppose you have a boat, Mr. MacNicol?"
"Aw, ay, and a fine boat too," said Archie. "And if Miss Stanley herself would be wishing for a sail, I would bring the boat round from Camus Bheag."
"That is just what I have been thinking of," Mary said: they were now come in sight of the sea, and she was absently looking out towards the horizon.
"Ay, chist any time that Miss Stanley pleases, and I will not be charging anything," said the good-natured giant with the friendly (and bemused) eyes. "Aw, naw, there would be no charge at ahl – but chist a gless of whisky when we come ashore."
"Oh, I must pay you for your time, of course," said she, briefly. "I suppose you could bring your boat round this evening so that my friend and myself might start pretty early to-morrow morning? We should be ready by ten."
Käthchen turned wondering eyes upon her.
"But where are you going, Mamie?"
"I am going out to Heimra Island," she said.
CHAPTER VII.
THE PIRATE'S LAIR
It was a bold undertaking; and Käthchen hardly concealed her dismay; but Mary Stanley was resolute.
"I must see my enemy face to face," she said. "I want to know what he means. Why should he stir up enmity and malignity against me? If he had any thought for those people who seem to regard him with such devotion, he would be on my side, for I wish to do everything I can for them. He ought to welcome me, instead of trying to drive me out of the place. And if he fishes and shoots over the Lochgarra estate simply to spite me, suppose I refuse to be spited? Suppose I present him with the shooting and fishing, on condition that he allows me to be kind to these people? How would that do, Käthchen? Wouldn't that be a fine revenge? I think that ought to make his face burn, if he has anything of gentle blood left in him!"
There was a vibrant chord of indignation in her tone, as there generally was when she spoke of this young man; for she did not think she was being fairly treated. But Käthchen, ignoring the true sources of her dismay, began to urge objections to this proposed visit, on the ground of social observances.
"I do really think, Mamie, it will look strange for two unmarried girls to go away out and pay such a visit – and – to that lonely island. Now if you would only wait until the Free Church Minister comes home, he might go with us, and then it would be all right. Not that the Free Church Minister is certain of a welcome – if the young man is what he is said to be; but at all events he would be a chaperon for us."
But Mary would not hear of waiting; she would challenge her secret antagonist forthwith.
"Very well, then," said Kate Glendinning, more seriously than was her wont, "if we do go, we must have some excuse; and you must tell him you have come to thank him for having got us out of that frightful bog."
Nor did the uninviting look of the next morning cause Miss Stanley to alter her resolve. It was hardly a day for a pleasure sail. The wind, it is true, had abated during the night; and there was not much of a sea on; but the skies were heavy and lowering; and dark and sombre were those long headlands running out into the leaden-hued main. But there was the lobster-boat lying at anchor, in charge of a young lad; and the dinghy was drawn up on the beach; and a message had just come in that Big Archie was waiting below to carry wraps and rugs.
"Käthchen," said Mary, sitting hastily down to her writing-desk, "I have discovered that the Fishery Board sits at Edinburgh; but I can't find out who are the members. Do you think I should begin 'My Lords and Gentlemen' or only 'Gentlemen'?"
"I don't know," said Käthchen; "I should think 'Gentlemen' would be safer."
So, in happy singleness of purpose, Mary proceeded to write her letter about the alien lobster-fishermen – little thinking to what that innocent action was to lead; then she went and quickly got ready; and by and by the two girls were on their way down to the beach, accompanied by the gigantic and massive-shouldered Gilleasbuig Mòr. Big Archie, if the truth must be told, was moodily silent this morning: the fact being that on the previous evening he had wound up the day's promiscuous indulgence by "drinking sore," as they say in those parts; and now his physical conscience was troubling him. But if his conversation was limited to monosyllables, and if he wore a sad and depressed look, he was, nevertheless, most kind and assiduous in his attentions to the two ladies; and when he had rowed them out in the dinghy, and got them ensconced in the stern of the bigger boat, he did everything he could for their comfort, considering the rudeness of their surroundings. And presently, when the anchor was got up, Big Archie came aft to the tiller; the young lad lay prone on the bit of deck forward, to keep a look-out; and Mary and her companion knew they were now pledged to the enterprise, whatever might come of it.
Indeed the two girls were themselves rather inclined to silence. It was a gloomy sort of morning; there was even a threatening of rain brooding over the distant headlands; and the dark sea lapped mournfully around them, with not a single swift-glancing flash of white. But the light breeze was favourable, and they made steady progress, unfamiliar features of the coast-line becoming visible on right hand and on left as they made further and further out to sea.
It seemed a long and weary time – given over to dreamings, and doubtings, and somewhat anxious forecasts. But all of a sudden Mary was startled by the voice of the skipper.
"Will Miss Stanley be for going in to Heimra?"
And then for the moment her courage failed her.
"What do you say, Käthchen? Do you think – we should send a message – before calling – ?"
"Oh, yes, certainly," said Käthchen, with eagerness. "That is certainly what we ought to do."
"Oh, very well, then," said Mary, turning to the steersman (but there was a flush of self-conscious shame on her cheeks), "you need not take us to the house – we will merely have a look at the island – and some other day we will come out, when we have told Mr. Ross beforehand."
"Very well, mem," said Big Archie, holding on the same course, which was taking them by the south side of the island.
It was an angry-looking coast – steep and sheer – a long, low, heavy surge breaking monotonously along the black rocks. But when they got round the westward-trending headland, they gradually came in sight of the sheltered waters of the little bay, and of the sweep of silver beach, and the solitary cottage perched on its small plateau. And of course Käthchen's eyes were full of intensest interest, with something, too, of apprehension; for this (according to Mr. Purdie) was the pirate's den; this was the home of the outlaw whose deeds by night and day, by sea and shore, had gained him so dark a renown. But Mary's attention had been attracted elsewhither. She was regarding a white marble slab, placed high on the top of the cliff, facing the western seas.
"Look, Käthchen," she said, in rather a low voice. And then she turned to the silent little bay before her. "Poor woman!" she said. "It was a lonely place to live all those years."
Presently Mary bethought her of the errand that had brought her so far; and she repented of her irresolution.
"Can you take us into the bay, Mr. MacNicol?" said she, without staying to consult Käthchen.
"Aw, yes, mem, zurely."
"For it is a long way to have come – and – and I am anxious to see Mr. Ross."
"Aw, very well, mem," said Archie, at once altering his course.
And then she said, looking all round the bay:
"But where is the yacht?"
"Is it Mr. Ross's yat, mem? It wass lying in Camus Bheag when I wass coming aweh last evening."
"And was Mr. Ross on board?" Käthchen asked, with a quick sense of relief.
"Indeed I am not zure of that," said Archie. "For mebbe he wass sending the men over to the mainland, and himself staying on the island."
"In any case, Käthchen, that need not matter to you," Mary interposed. "You can remain where you are, and I will go up to the house by myself. Why should you bother about my business affairs?"
This was a view of the case that was not likely to commend itself to Kate Glendinning, who could nerve herself on occasion. When the lobster-boat had come to anchor, and they had gone ashore in the dinghy, she proceeded to walk up to the house along with her friend just as if nothing unusual was happening to her. She kept watch – furtively; but her outward air was one of perfect self-possession. As for Mary, she was too deeply engaged in thinking how her complaints and demands were to be framed to heed anything else at this moment.
They knocked at the door, and again knocked; after a little while the old woman Martha appeared – the surprise in her face being obvious testimony to the rarity of visitors to this remote island.
"Is Mr. Ross at home?" Mary asked.
It was a second or so before Martha recovered from her amazement – for she had not seen the lobster-boat appear in the bay, nor yet the strangers come ashore.
"Oh, no – he is over on the mainland," said the trimly-dressed old woman. "What a peety – what a peety!"
Mary was rather taken aback; however, she said:
"It is not of much consequence, for, if he is on the mainland – or if he is in the neighbourhood – I daresay I shall be able to see him before he returns to Heimra."
And then she was about coming away when Martha interposed, with Highland courtesy.
"But would not the leddies come in and sit down for a little while – and hef some tea, or a little milk, or something of that kind? Mr. Ross very sorry when he knows – to be sure – and a great peety him not here – "
"Oh, thank you," said Käthchen (whose face had lightened considerably when she heard of Donald Ross being absent), "it is very kind of you; and I am sure I shall be very glad to have a glass of milk, if you will be so kind."
Käthchen wanted no milk; but she suddenly saw before her a chance of having her curiosity satisfied without risk: she would be allowed to see what kind of lair this was in which the savage outlaw lived. And so the unsuspecting Martha led the way; and the two young ladies followed her into the passage, and into the first room leading therefrom, which was a kind of morning-apartment and study combined. They seated themselves, and she left to get them such refreshment as the out-of-the-world cottage could afford.
The two girls were silent; but their eyes were busy. The first thing that attracted their notice was a portrait over the mantelpiece – the portrait of a very beautiful woman, pale somewhat and dark, with refined and impressive features, and of a simple yet dignified bearing. A sad face, perhaps; but a face full of character and distinction: the first glance told you this was no common person who looked at you so calmly. Mary said nothing; Käthchen said nothing; but they knew who this was – the likeness was too obvious.
And as for the other contents of the room? – well, there were neither guns, nor rods, nor splash-nets, nor anything else connected with fishing or shooting, legal or illegal; but there was an abundance of books in the shelves that lined three walls of the apartment. Moreover, there was one volume lying on the table before them – beside a wooden pipe. They regarded this for some little time; but it was Käthchen who spoke first.
"Mary, would it be very impertinent if I looked?"
Mary Stanley laughed.
"I don't know," she said. "Most people do pick up things when they are left in a room. But we are in a peculiar position. We are here without the consent of the owner."
"Yes, that is so," said Käthchen, resignedly, and she remained still.
But she continued looking towards the book in a wistful way.
"It's only the title I should like to see," she began again. "What harm can there be in that? If Mr. Ross were here himself, I would take up the book in a minute – yes, I would! What do you say, Mary?"
"Well," said Mary, frankly, "I really should like to know what kind of literature commends itself to any one living in a strange place such as this. But at the same time we are not his guests – we are intruders – or if we are guests, we are the housekeeper's guests, and it is but fair to her we shouldn't pry into secrets."
Käthchen had risen and gone across to the table: perhaps it would not be breaking the laws of hospitality if she could get a glimpse of the title of the book without actually laying hands on it? But the back of it was away from the light. In these desperate circumstances, Käthchen yielded to temptation; she hastily snatched up the volume, glanced at the title, and as quickly returned to her seat again.
"Good gracious!" said she. "That is fine entertainment for a lonely island – Joshua Williams's 'Real Property'!"
"A law book?" said Mary, with her face becoming suddenly grave. "I hope there is not going to be – any trouble – a lawsuit is such a dreadful thing – "
"Oh, no; I understand what that means," said Käthchen, "I know quite well. That is one of the books my brother had when he was reading up for the bar – I remember it because I spilt some ink over it, and he made me buy him another. I wonder, now, if Mr. Ross is reading up for the bar? Wouldn't that be a blessed dispensation of Providence for you, Mamie – if he were to go away and shut himself up in the Temple, and leave you Lochgarra entirely in your own hands, shooting, and fishing, and everything? Only," she added, "I don't quite understand how such a wild savage as Mr. Purdie described to us would be likely to get on with the Judges. I am afraid there would be scenes in court. What do they call dismissing a barrister? – not cashiering? – unfrocking? – "
Käthchen had suddenly to cease; for here was the elderly Martha, carrying a large tray amply provided with homely and wholesome fare – oatmeal cake, soda scones, marmalade, strawberry jam, fresh butter, and a jug of milk. And Mary did not pause before breaking bread in the house of her enemy; for she saw that the old housekeeper was anxious that her bounties should be appreciated; and besides, oat-cake and marmalade and fresh milk ought to recommend themselves to any healthily-constituted young woman. By and by, when Martha had left the room, Miss Stanley said —
"What shall I give her as we are going away, Käthchen? Half-a-sovereign?"
"Oh, for goodness' sake, Mamie, don't think of such a thing!" Käthchen exclaimed. "At any other time give her anything you like; but you must not pay for food in this house; you cannot imagine how offended she would be. She would take it as an insult offered to her master: she represents Mr. Ross in his absence – it is Mr. Ross who is entertaining us now – "
"Oh, it is Mr. Ross who is entertaining us? – yes of course," said Mary, thoughtfully; and – perhaps without noticing the coincidence – she put down the piece of oat-cake she held in her hand, nor did she take it up again.
And furthermore, as they were going down to the boat – having made due acknowledgments to Martha for her hospitality – Mary walked as one in a dream; while Käthchen, rejoiced to have come through this dreaded ordeal with such unexpected ease, was in the gayest of humours. She did not notice her friend's reverie; she was chattering away about their foolhardiness in entering the savage's lair – about her surprise in finding no skulls and bones lying in corners – about the quiet and studious aspect of the place being a pretty cover for all kinds of dark and lawless deeds. Mary did not reply; once or twice she looked up to the white grave on the hill – she was thinking of other things.
But when they had all got into the larger boat again, and set out on their return voyage, Käthchen found a companion more of her own mood. The truth is that while the young ladies were being entertained in the front part of the house, Big Archie had slipped up to the back, had paid his respects to Martha, and had been presented, as is the custom in the west, with his morning dram. This welcome mitigation of his Katzenjammer had made a new man of him; and he was now disposed to be as talkative as hitherto he had been morose; so that, as he sate with his arm on the tiller, he was cheerfully telling the young lady all about himself, and his doings, and circumstances. And Käthchen, finding him thus sociable, and friendly, affected much interest, and plied him with appropriate questions.
"Do you keep a cow, Mr. MacNicol?" said she.
"Aw, now," said he, deprecatingly, "the young leddy will be mekkin me ashamed. It's chist Archie they'll be calling me."
"Very well, Archie – do you keep a cow?"
"I starve one," said Archie, with ironical humour.
"And a kitchen garden?"
"Aw, is it a garden? And you will not know that I wass tekken the prize for the garden, ay, more as three or four years? Well, well, now, there is no longer a prize given for the best garden, and it's a peety, too – "
"But tell me," said Käthchen, with some astonishment, "why was the prize stopped? It seems a very reasonable thing, a prize for the best kitchen garden among the crofters and fishermen – I'm quite sure Miss Stanley would give such a prize. Why was it stopped?"
Big Archie hesitated for a second or two; then he said, with a grin of confession —
"Well, now, I will tell you the God's truth, mem; for there's two ways about every story; and there's my way of it, and there's Mr. Purdie's way of it; and mebbe the one is true or the other. And this is my way of it: I wass gettin the prize – oh, yes, I will not deny that – year by year, and very proud I wass, too, of the cabbages, and the scarlet beans, and the like of that, and the thirty shullins of the prize a very good thing for me. And then kem the time the Minard crofters they were for sending an appligation to Mr. Stanley for to have the rents revised, and I put my name to the paper too; but Mr. Stanley he would do nothing at ahl – he said 'Go to Mr. Purdie.' Then Mr. Purdie he sees my name on the paper; and he says, 'Very well, there will be no more prize for the garden, and you can do without your thirty shullins.' It wass a punishment for me, that I wass putting my name on the paper. Now, mem, that is my story about the prize – "
"I think it was very shabby treatment!" Käthchen exclaimed.
"And that is the way I see my side of it," continued Big Archie, honestly; "but I am not denying there may be another way. Aw naw, mem, I want to tell you fair; and Mr. Purdie he would hef another version for you, if you were to believe it – "
"Well, then, what is his version?" said Käthchen – for the time being rather priding herself on playing Mary Stanley's part.
"Well, I wass speaking to Mr. Pettigrew, the minister, and he wass speaking to Mr. Purdie, about getting the prize back, and Mr. Purdie he says to Mr. Pettigrew 'No, I will not give the prize back; for there was not enough competition, and Archie MacNicol he wass always tekkin the prize, and it wass the same as thirty shullins a year off his rent. The prize,' he wass saying, 'wass to encourache ahl the people to attend to their gardens, and not to give Archie MacNicol thirty shullins a year.' And that's the God's truth, mem, and both ways of the story; but what I will be thinking to myself is that there wass no talk of stopping the prize till Mr. Purdie found my name on the paper. That's what I would be thinking to myself sometimes."
Käthchen glanced rather timidly at her friend. But Mary was still in that curiously abstracted reverie – her eyes turned wistfully towards the now receding Eilean Heimra – her thoughts remote. So Käthchen merely said in an undertone —
"Very well, Archie, I will put both versions of the story before Miss Stanley, and I have no doubt she will do what is right. For my own part, I don't see why you should be deprived of the prize simply because you keep a smarter garden than the other people."
A great event happened this afternoon – nothing less than the arrival from the South of Mr. Watson, the sheep-farmer, Miss Stanley's principal tenant. The two girls had landed from the boat, walked along the shore, and were just about turning off towards Lochgarra House, when they were overtaken by some one riding a stout and serviceable little cob; and Mary instantly guessed who this must be – for persons on horseback are rare at Lochgarra. The stranger lifted his hat, but did not draw rein.
"Mr. Watson," said she – looking towards him with a plain intimation that she desired to speak with him.
Mr. Watson immediately pulled up, dismounted, and came towards her, leading the cob by the bridle. He was a middle-aged man with a fresh complexion, grizzled hair, short whiskers, and shrewd blue eyes – looking prosperous and well-satisfied with himself, and with some little turn for jocosity about his firmly-set lips.
"I beg your pardon," she said, with a little embarrassment, "but – I wished to speak with you – "
"Miss Stanley? – I am glad to make your acquaintance," said he, in a marked south-country accent. And he bowed to Miss Stanley's companion.
"Won't you come into the house for a moment or two?" said Mary, with a vague notion that she ought to be polite to a tenant who paid her £1400 a year: moreover, she had ulterior ends in view. Mr. Watson consented; Mary went and called a gardener, who took charge of the cob; and then the two young ladies and the farmer proceeded up the stone steps, and through the hall, and into the wide hexagonal drawing-room in the tower. Then she asked him to be seated, adding some vague suggestion about a glass of wine and a biscuit after his ride.
"No, I thank ye," said Mr. Watson. "I am a teetotaller – not an ordinary thing in these parts. Ay, and a vegetarian. But I practise – I don't preach," he explained, with a complacent smile; "so I do no harm to other folk. Both things suit me; but I let other people alone. That's the fair way in the world."