CHAPTER XVIII.
THE BROONIE.
Things had gone on in this way for several weeks--if Gibbie had not been such a small creature, I hardly see how they could for so long--when one morning the men came in to breakfast all out of temper together, complaining loudly of the person unknown who would persist in interfering with their work.

They were the louder that their suspicions fluttered about Fergus, who was rather overbearing with them, and therefore not a favourite.

He was in reality not at all a likely person to bend back or defile hands over such labour, and their pitching upon him for the object of their suspicion, showed how much at a loss they were.

Their only ground for suspecting him, beyond the fact that there was no other whom by any violence of imagination they could suspect, was, that, whatever else was done or left undone in the stable, Snowball, whom Fergus was fond of, and rode almost every day, was, as already mentioned, sure to have something done for him.

Had he been in good odour with them, they would have thought no harm of most of the things they thought he did, especially as they eased their work; but he carried himself high, they said, doing nothing but ride over the farm and pick out every fault he could find--to show how sharp he was, and look as if he could do better than any of them; and they fancied that he carried their evil report to his father, and that this underhand work in the stable must be part of some sly scheme for bringing them into disgrace.