of all days in the North. Even the twittering of the
sparrows on the quaint housetops seemed less noisy than usual, and
the women who stood in groups in the narrow street, with their
clean mutch caps, their crimson hubbie jackets and coarse blue
gowns, suppressed their voices almost into whispers as they talked
of the growing quarrel between my father and his new rival, Carver
Kinlay. The solemn stillness of the June Sabbath was everywhere
apparent. The healthy scent of the peat smoke, mingled with a
certain fishy odour, permeated the little town, while the cool,
fresh smell of the seaweed, and the sweet perfume of the Dutch
clover, came from the shores of the bay. The few men who were in
port lounged about in sight of the sea, looking lazily outward at
the anchored ships.

On the little jetty at the Anchor Close my father sat on an
upturned herring creel, smoking his pipe, and watching a flock of
sea mews floating gracefully on the green water. Occasionally these
birds would rise in the sunny air with long outstretched wings, and
give utterance to cries not unlike the mewing of kittens. Some
wind-bound vessels lay at anchor in their own reflections, keel to
keel, with gay colours streaming from their mastheads. I had never
before seen the bay looking so still and beautiful. But from the
outer shores of the Ness came the prolonged murmur of the Atlantic
waves, falling upon the ear like an everlasting sigh.

I was seated in the stern of the Curlew, as the boat lay against
the pier upon which my father sat smoking. Looking over her side
down into the clear water, I could see the small fish dart about
like flashes of silver light in the emerald depths, where the
many-coloured seaweeds swayed softly to and fro with the motion of
the tide; while far below, on their sandy bed, the bright shells,
the sea urchins, and the green mossy stones gleamed like brilliant
gems. And the low swish of the tide against the stone pier made a
pleasant, sleepy sound.

Sometimes, as I sat there dreamily, my eyes would wander across the
smooth blue water to the distant hills, following the steady,
swooping flight of an eagle. Nearer at hand, the flight of a flock
of sea larks along the links of the shore would attract my
attention, while once I heard the splash of a solan goose diving in
the bay, and saw the spray rise in a glittering column high above
the water.

Suddenly my dreamy meditations were interrupted. Hurried footsteps
sounded