Argyle_ put to sea on her trial
trip, her owner was on board; but he merely sat on a thwart. It was
Rob who was at the tiller; Rob wanted to try the boat; the owner wanted
to observe the crew. And first of all she sailed lightly out of the
harbour, with the wind on her beam; then outside, the breeze being
fresher, they let her away down Loch Scrone, with the brilliant new
lug-sail bellying out; then they brought her round, and fought her up
against the stiff wind--Rob's brief words of command being obeyed with
the rapidity of lightning.

'Well, what do ye think of her?' said Mr. Bailie to his young skipper.

Rob's face was aglow with pride.

'I think she's like a race-horse!' he said. 'I think she would lick
any boat in Erisaig Bay.'

'But it is not to run races I have handed her over to ye. You must be
careful, Rob; and run back if there's any squally weather about. I'll
no be vexed if you're over cautious. For ye know if anything was to
happen to one of they lads, the people would say I had done wrong in
lippening[2] a boat to such a young crew.'

'Well, sir,' said Rob, boldly, 'ye have seen them work the boat. Do
they look like lads who do not know what sailing a boat is?'

Mr. Bailie laughed, and said no more.

Then came the afternoon on which they were to set out for the first
time after the herring. All Erisaig came out to see; and Rob was a
proud lad as he stepped on board (with the lazy indifference of the
trained fisherman very well imitated) and took his seat as stroke oar.
The afternoon was lovely; there was not a breath of wind; the setting
sun shone over the bay; and the _Mary of Argyle_ went away across the
shining waters with the long white oars dipping with the precision of
clock-work. It was not until they were at the mouth of the harbour
that something occurred which seemed likely to turn this brave
setting-out into ridicule.

This was Daft Sandy, who rowed his punt right across the path of the
_Mary of Argyle_, and, as she came up, called to Rob.

'What is it ye want?' Rob called to him.

'I want to come on board, Rob,' the old man said, as he now rowed his
punt up to the stern of the skiff.

'I have no tobacco, and I have no whisky,' Rob said, impatiently.
'There'll be no tobacco or whisky on board this boat so long as I have
anything to do with her; so ye needna come for that, Sandy.'

'It's no for that,' said Daft Sandy, as, with the painter of his boat
in one hand, he grip