sterling, and his
willingness to "sport" his thousands on every important occasion
was one of his chief characteristics at this period.

"But how far is this place Kirkwall?" asked Captain Gordon. "How
long will it take us to get there?"

"How far! Oh! only a matter of a few hours' sail," said Abernethy.
"I've got my pinnace out, and we'll have a fine jaunt. Come along!"

"No. I've to see old Flett this morning to pay him some money.
Besides, we're too many for the pinnace. Can we not go by road?"

And Captain Gordon looked to me for an answer.

"You can get Oliver Gray's pony and gig," I replied. "It's about
fourteen miles by road."

"Will you come with me, then, Halcro?" he asked.

"Certainly; I'll be very glad. I know the way well."

The two other skippers, with Mr. Watt and the rest, then made
arrangements for their boating party, intending to sail round to
Scapa, and thence walk across the little peninsula to Kirkwall.

When Mr. Gordon had brushed himself up a bit, we went ashore
together and found out Davie Flett, whose business occupied very
little of the captain's time, and soon we were at the door of
Oliver Gray's inn watching his Shetland pony being harnessed into
the gig.

"Now, Halcro, are you going to drive? Up you get," said Mr. Gordon.

"Surely you dinna expect me to drive, Captain Gordon!" I exclaimed.
"Why, I never held a pair of reins in my life!"

"All right, my lad! get over to larboard there, and I'll see what
we can do. You can be pilot and give your orders, and I'll take the
helm.

"Come along, Sheltie; off we go!"

The weather was very fine, the roads in good condition, and the
pony fresh, so that we looked for a very pleasant drive to the
capital. We drove along the north road by Hamla Voe and past the
green cornfields of Cairston, and then over the hill until the
great loch of Stenness stretched before us, reflecting on its
surface the dappled, woolly clouds.

When we reached the Bridge of Waithe and turned westward, I asked
my companion to slacken pace, for I had seen on the white road in
advance of us two figures that were familiar to me.

"Who are they, Halcro?" Mr. Gordon inquired; "two of your school
friends, eh?"

"Yes," I replied. "The lassie walking on the grass with the bare
feet and carrying a green bag is Hilda Paterson--Jack Paterson's
daughter."

"Ay! Jack Paterson's girl, eh? Well, and the other one with the
pretty hair, walking along here like a stately y