ese men that drew the eye of Newhaven upon
them.

In the first place a Buckhaven man rarely communicates with natives of
Newhaven, except at the pier, where he brings in his cod and ling
from the deep sea, flings them out like stones, and sells them to the
fishwives; then up sail and away for Fifeshire.

But these men evidently came ashore to speak to some one in the town.

They whispered together; something appeared to be proposed and demurred
to; but at last two went slowly back toward the pier, and the eldest
remained, with a fisherman's long mackintosh coat in his hand which the
others had given him as they left him.

With this in his hand, the Buckhaven fisherman stood in an irresolute
posture; he looked down, and seemed to ask himself what course he should
take.

"What's wrang?" said Jean Carnie, who, with her neighbors, had observed
the men; "I wish yon man may na hae ill news."

"What ill news wad he hae?" replied another.

"Are ony freends of Liston Carnie here?" said the fisherman.

"The wife's awa' to Granton, Beeny Liston they ca' her--there's his
house," added Jean, pointing up the row.

"Ay," said the fisherman, "I ken he lived there."

"Lived there!" cried Christie Johnstone. "Oh, what's this?"

"Freends," said the man, gravely, "his boat is driving keel uppermost in
Kircauldy Bay. We passed her near enough to read the name upon her."

"But the men will have won to shore, please God?"

The fisherman shook his head.

"She'll hae coupit a mile wast Inch Keith, an' the tide rinning aff
the island an' a heavy sea gaun. This is a' Newhaven we'll see of them"
_(holding up the coat)_ "till they rise to the top in three weeks'
time."

The man then took the coat, which was now seen to be drenched with
water, and hung it up on a line not very far from its unfortunate
owner's house. Then, in the same grave and subdued tone in which he had
spoken all along, he said, "We are sorry to bring siccan a tale into
your toon," and slowly moved off to rejoin his comrades, who had waited
for him at no great distance. They then passed through the Old Town, and
in five minutes the calamity was known to the whole place.

After the first stupor, the people in the New Town collected into knots,
and lamented their hazardous calling, and feared for the lives of those
that had just put to sea in this fatal gale for the rescue of strangers,
and the older ones failed not to match this present sorrow with others
withi