“I have heard,” he continued, “that in parts of Islay they used to be so bad that the farmers would set fire to the heather in a circle, and as the heather burned in and in you could see the snakes and adders twisting and curling in a great ball.  We have not many with us.  But one day John Begg, that is the schoolmaster, went behind a rock to get a light for his pipe; and he put his head close to the rock to be out of the wind; and then he thought he stirred something with his cap; and the next moment the adder fell on to his shoulder, and bit him in the neck.  He was half mad with the fright; but I think the adder must have bitten the cap first and expended its poison; for the schoolmaster was only ill for about two days, and then there was no more of it.  But just think of it—­an adder getting to your neck—­”

“I would rather not think of it,” she said, quickly.  “What is the other animal—­that you hate?”

“Oh!” he said, lightly, “that is a very different affair—­that is a parrot that speaks.  I was never shut up in the house with one till this week.  My landlady’s son brought her home one from the West Indies; and she put the cage in a window recess on my landing.  At first it was a little amusing; but the constant yelp—­it was too much for me. ’Pritty poal! pritty poal!’ I did not mind so much; but when the ugly brute, with its beady eyes and its black snout, used to yelp, ’Come and kiz me! come and kiz me!’ I grew to hate it.  And in the morning, too, how was one to sleep?  I used to open my door and fling a boot at it; but that only served for a time.  It began again.”

“But you speak of it as having been there.  What became of it?”

He glanced at her rather nervously—­like a schoolboy—­and laughed.

“Shall I tell you?” he said, rather shamefacedly.  “The murder will be out sooner or later.  It was this morning.  I could stand it no longer.  I had thrown both my boots at it; it was no use.  I got up a third time, and went out.  The window, that looks into a back yard, was open.  Then I opened the parrot’s cage.  But the fool of an animal did not know what I meant—­or it was afraid—­and so I caught him by the back of the neck and flung him out.  I don’t know anything more about him.”

“Could he fly?” said the big-eyed Carry, who had been quite interested in this tragic tale.

“I don’t know,” Macleod said, modestly.  “There was no use asking him.  All he could say was, ‘Come and kiz me;’ and I got tired of that.”

“Then you have murdered him!” said the elder sister in an awestricken voice; and she pretended to withdraw a bit from him.  “I don’t believe in the Macleods having become civilized, peaceable people.  I believe they would have no hesitation in murdering any one that was in their way.”

“Oh, Miss White,” said he, in protest, “you must forget what I told you about the Macleods; and you must really believe they were no worse than the others of the same time.  Now I was thinking of another story the other day, which I must tell you—­”