ted finally on the sun, which lay low among some light,
fleecy clouds. He gave it as his opinion that when it reached the point
of setting it "might draw a light air after it from the eastward."
For that it appeared we were to wait I shrank from toil with the heavy
sweeps. So, I am sure did Peter, who is a good man in a boat but averse
from unnecessary labour. And there was really no need to row. The tide
was carrying us homeward, and our position was pleasant enough. Save
for the occasional drag of a block against the horse we had achieved
unbroken silence and almost perfect peace.

We drifted slowly past Carrigeen Glos, a low, sullen line of rocks. A
group of cormorants, either gorged with mackerel fry or hopeless of an
evening meal, perched together at one end of the reef, and stared at
the setting sun. A few terns swept round and round overhead, soaring or
sliding downwards with easy motion. A large seal lay basking on a bare
rock just above the water's edge. I pointed it out to Peter, and he said
it was a pity I had not got my rifle with me. I did not agree with him.
If I had brought the rifle Peter would have insisted on my shooting at
the seal. I should certainly not have hit it on purpose, for I am averse
from injuring gentle creatures; but I might perhaps have killed or
wounded it by accident, for my shooting is very uncertain. In any case
I should have broken nature's peace, and made a horrible commotion.
Perhaps the seal heard Peter's remark or divined his feeling of
hostility. It flopped across the rock and slid gracefully into the sea.
We saw it afterwards swimming near the boat, looking at us with its
curiously human, tender eyes.

"A man might mistake it for a mermaid," I said.

"He'd have to be a fool altogether that would do the like," said Peter.

He was scornful; but the seal's eyes were human. They made me think of
mermaids.

"Them ones," said Peter, "is entirely different from seals. You might
see a seal any day in fine weather. They're plenty. But the other
ones--But sure you wouldn't care to be hearing about them."

"I've heard plenty about them," I said, "but it was all poetry and
nonsense. You know well enough, Peter, that there's no such thing as a
mermaid."

Peter filled his pipe slowly and lit it I could see by the way he puffed
at it that he was full of pity and contempt for my scepticism.

"Come now," I said: "did you ever see a mermaid?"

"I did not," said Peter, "but my mother w