Jemima managed to grasp that he was enquiring after the bodach or old man, and answered solemnly, “My father’s fine. He has the rheumatism sometimes. But och, he’ll be ninety-five next week, and that’s a great age for a man like my father.”

“Well, tell old Rory I was asking after him, Jemima.”

“I will indeed. It’s himself that will be pleased when he hears Ben Nevis was asking for him.”

“I don’t suppose I’ll ever see ninety-five, Jemima, what?”

“Och, it’s you that will be seeing more than ninety-five, Ben Nevis. Och, yes, indeed, and perhaps a hundred whatever.”

Ben Nevis took a snuff-box from his pocket and offered it to old Jemima Macdonald, the widow of a former shepherd of his. She took a hefty pinch of which the expressed keen appreciation, and the Chieftain bellowed a greeting to an old man with a beard of snow over a face like the ruins of Petra, ’ rose-red and half as old as time.’

“Hullo, how are you, Alasdair?”

“Ah, well, well, well, what a beautiful day, Ben Nevis, and what a beautiful Gathering!”

“Yes, it’s one of the best I ever remember. I was sorry Sandy didn’t manage to do better with the caber.”

This was the grandson of the old gentleman.

“Och, he was tossing like a clown. Just a clown. Nothing more. It’s better not to be speaking about it. You’re looking very well, Ben Nevis.”

“I’m feeling very well, Alasdair. Did you hear about our little affray up at Drumcockie on the Twelfth?”

“Yes, yes, indeed, we were all hearing about it. Terrible people, those hikers. Worse than the Chermans, I believe. But some people like them.”

“They do?”

“Och, yes, there’s my neighbour, Mrs Macfarlane who lives three miles away up Strathdun just where the road comes into it. She’s daft for hikers. Bed and breakfast and eggs and milk and teas. They’re round her like bees in the heather.”

“Good god! But she hasn’t one of my crofts?”

“No, no, she has one of the Department holdings.”

“There you are, Alasdair. There’s Government interference for you. Poking their noses into the Highlands, and the only result is hikers. Well, I’m going to devote myself to stamping out hikers in Inverness-shire. I only wish I could stamp them out all over the Highlands, but we get no kind of co-operation from Argyll in this sort of thing. Of course, the truth is they’re all so many Mrs Macfarlanes in Argyll. They batten on them, the County Council included. I’m glad to see you at the Gathering and looking so well, Alasdair. Have you talked to young Hector yet?”

“Och, yes, I had a word with him. Fancy flying all the way from India. What a time we live in! Where will we be flying next?”

“You and I will be flying to Heaven, I hope.”