Mr Gorman and then across the lough. He would fain have flown that
moment to the beat, but I could see he was too far under his honour's
thumb to do so without leave.

"We cannot spare you, Mike, till the job is finished. We must get the
carts to Derry before night."

"I'm thinking," said my father, "Barry here knows the road to Derry as
well as me. Who'll be minding a young boy on a cart of turnips?"

His honour mused a moment, and then nodded.

"Can you get the cutter away in this wind?" asked he.

"I could get her away as easy as I got her in," said my father; "but
she's well enough as she is for a day or two, by your honour's leave."

"Father," said I, all excitement, "sure it wasn't you ran the cutter
into the lough round Fanad yesterday? I knew nobody else could have
done it!"

My father grinned at the compliment.

"That's the boy knows one end of a ship from the other," said he.

Mr Gorman looked at me, and a thought seemed to strike him.

"Come here!" said he, beckoning me to him.

Once again he looked hard in my face, and I looked hard back.

"So you are Barry?" he demanded.

"I am," said I.

"And you'd like to be a sailor?"

"No," I retorted. It was a lie, but I would be under no favour to his
honour.

His honour grunted, and talked in a low voice to my father, who
presently said to me,--

"Take the turnips to Joe Callan's, in Derry, on the Ship Quay. Wait
till dark before you go into the city. Tell him there's more where
these came from."

"Is it guns you mane?" said I.

"Hold your tongue, you limb of darkness," growled my father. "It's
turnips. If any one asks you, mind you know nothing, and never heard of
his honour in your life."

By which I understood this was a very secret errand, and like enough to
land me in Derry Jail before all was done. Had I not been impatient to
see my father and his honour away to Fanad, I think I should have made
excuses. But I durst not say another word, and with a heavy heart
clambered to the top of the turnips and started on my long journey.

Before I had passed the hill I could see the white sail of our little
boat dancing through the broken water of the lough, and knew that my
father and Mr Gorman were on their way to set my mother's mind at rest.
In the midst of my trouble and ill-humour I smiled to think what a poor
figure his honour would have cut trying to make Fanad in that wind. My
father could sail in the teeth of anything, and