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corned beef. Mary, who by this time was sniffing ecstatically, looked up enquiringly. I ignored her and took up the carving knife. It slid through the flesh as effortlessly as if it had been the breast of a young chicken. Mary held out her plate. I took a deep breath.
    â€˜I think I ought to tell you …’ I began. Mary listened and drew back her plate. ‘Yawn and Sarah have eaten it,’ I ended. ‘And they’re all right.’ She still held on to her plate.
    â€˜Aren’t you even going to taste it?’ I asked anxiously.
    â€˜Not until you’ve tasted it first,’ she said,
    I picked up a slice in my fingers and nibbled it. I pushed the rest of the slice into my mouth and licked my fingers before forking several more slices on to my own plate. Mary took a small piece and ate it.
    â€˜It’s delicious!’ she said incredulously and proffered her plate again. Across the table we grinned at each other and took up our knives and forks. I had a sudden thought and put mine down again.
    â€˜Just a minute, Mary,’ I said. ‘Don’t you think this is one occasion when we can’t neglect to say grace?’
    We bowed our heads.

Romance
    We were gathered in the schoolhouse for a meeting with the landlord and a representative of the Department of Agriculture who wished to sound village opinion with regard to a proposal for realigning croft boundaries. The scheme purported to be for the benefit of the village but the crofters, always suspicious of anything new, were intent on vetoing any change. They did not see how realignment could take place without robbing one man to give to another. Someone was bound to lose, they asserted, and as every man present was determined it should not be himself there seemed little point in having a meeting at all. Nevertheless the crofters attended as they attended every meeting ever held in the village. It ‘made a change’, they said, and though outwardly they were prepared to treat a subject seriously one sensed the latent hope that some amusing argument or comic situation might develop during the discussion. They in fact regarded a ‘meeting’ as just a different kind of ceilidh with the presence of strangers making it necessary to restrain the impulse to comment or deride.
    Tonight the presence of the landlord ensured that there would be little if any argument for though the Bruachites were fortunate in having a relatively tolerant and indulgent landlord there still lingered in their minds the vestiges of a feudal system where the goodwill of the landlord was necessary for survival. There was for instance either a law or a tradition that every male in the village should be given so many paid days’ work on the estate every year and though times had changed and the crofters were prosperous enough not to need such benevolence they would have resented any suggestion that the practice be discontinued. The absence of an offer from the landlord of such work would be regarded as evidence that they were out of favour and this they were anxious to avoid.
    So everyone listened to the speech of the Department representative in courteous silence. Everyone that is except Torquil who though he was a ‘wee bit simple’ was the possessor of a loud clear voice. It was these two attributes that made him the ideal choice for a heckler and having been well coached beforehand he now jumped up at regular intervals to bawl loudly ‘We want our rights!’. The speaker bore with the constant interruptions good humouredly for a time but at last becoming exasperated he turned on Torquil. ‘Very well, you insist you want your rights,’ he taxed him. ‘Tell me, what are your rights?’
    Torquil’s face went completely blank. ‘I’m damned if I know,’ he replied and sat down.
    Soon afterwards the landlord, who must have known the futility of trying to make changes, brought the meeting to a close. His