iscomforts of my further journey.
The ground was marshy and sodden, and I sank deep into it at every
step I took. My clothing was wet through and through, and my dog,
which I carried over my shoulder, was a burden so heavy and
inconvenient that only my love for my late companion and respect
for her lifeless body gave me sufficient strength to bear it for so
great a distance. And then the rain fell incessantly, and the wind
was full in my face.

Carver Kinlay's farm of Crua Breck was on my way to my uncle's, and
I thought I would stay there a few moments as I passed, to leave
the otter skin for Thora, and maybe get shelter and a drink of warm
milk. But not till I was almost at the door did I remember about my
recent fight with Tom.

In its exposed position on the bleak hillside the farmstead felt
the full force of the gale as it beat in fury against the front of
the house. The rain and the salt spray from the sea pelted upon the
windows, and laid low all Thora's flowers in the little garden. The
large fuchsia bush, which in summertime dangled its drooping
blossoms in rich profusion, seemed the only plant capable of
withstanding the rough blast; and the great gaunt jaws of the
Greenland whale, that formed an archway at the gate, trembled in
the tempest.

I went up to the door, and opening it stood within the shelter of
the porch for a while, and heard someone reading aloud. Soon I
gathered courage enough to approach the inner door, and look
through its little window into the room. A rousing fire of peats
and dried heather was blazing on the hearth, around which the
family were gathered in a half circle. In an armchair, with a open
book on his knee, sat Carver himself. By his side sat his wife
knitting a stocking, the firelight glinting on her fair hair. Near
to her were a ploughman and a herd boy, also a young woman who did
the light field work on the farm and milked the cows, made butter,
and helped in the house. Tom sat by the fire opposite his father,
and I could see that he was polishing with a piece of leather one
of his silver coins. Thora, whose silken hair and beautiful face I
regarded with greater satisfaction than any other feature of this
group, sat apart from the others, as though she did not care, or
had not been invited, to draw her stool nearer to the warmth.

Carver Kinlay, black bearded and hoarse of voice, was reading aloud
to his family, and seemed to be expecting from them an attention to
the Ho