ontrary, she was soon engaged in helping
Mairi to bring in some coffee to the parlor, while Duncan cut slices
of ham and cold beef big enough to have provisioned a fishing-boat
bound for Caithness. Sheila had had her breakfast; so she devoted all
her time to waiting upon her two guests, until Lavender could scarcely
eat through the embarrassment produced by her noble servitude. Ingram
was not so sensitive, and made a very good meal indeed.

"Where's your father, Sheila?" said Ingram when the last of their
preparations had been made and they were about to start for the river,
"Isn't he up yet?"

"My father?" said the girl, with the least possible elevation of her
eyebrows--"he will be down at Borvabost an hour ago. And I hope that
John the Piper will not see him this morning. But we must make haste,
Mr. Ingram, for the wind will fall when the sun gets stronger, and
then your friend will have no more of the fishing."

So they set out, and Ingram put Sheila's hand on his arm, and took her
along with him in that fashion, while the tall gillie walked behind
with Lavender, who was or was not pleased with the arrangement. The
young man, indeed, was a trifle silent, but Duncan was in an amiable
and communicative mood, and passed the time in telling him stories
of the salmon he had caught, and of the people who had tried to catch
them and failed. Sheila and Ingram certainly went a good pace up the
hill and round the summit of it, and down again into the valley of the
White Water. The light step of the girl seemed to be as full of spring
as the heather on which she trod; and as for her feet getting wet,
the dew must have soaked them long ago. She was in the brightest of
spirits. Lavender could hear her laughing in a low pleased fashion,
and then presently her head would be turned up toward her companion,
and all the light of some humorous anecdote would appear in her face
and in her eloquent eyes, and it would be Ingram's turn to break out
into one of those short abrupt laughs that had something sardonic in
them.

But hark! From the other side of the valley comes another sound, the
faint and distant skirl of the pipes, and yonder is the white-haired
hunchback, a mere speck in a waste of brown and green morass. What is
he playing to himself now?

"He is a foolish fellow, that John," said the tall keeper, "for if
he comes down to Borvabost this morning it iss Mr. Mackenzie will
fling his pipes in ta sea, and he will hef to go