"What like a man is the sheriff's clerk, sir?" asked Lothian.

"I can't tell you that, my man, for we never saw him," replied the
skipper. "He has a clerk, who has also a clerk, and this last one
is the only one we saw. Why, the Governor of Jamaica has not so
many functionaries."

Until three o'clock Captain Gordon went about the town with me--to
the cathedral, where he examined the old Norman arches, the dim old
epitaphs, and other relics of antiquity contained within these
ancient temple walls. There were many other sights of curious
interest to the captain about Kirkwall; for here were the decayed
palaces of earls, the halls of old sea kings, and thick-walled
mansions of the lordly times--many of them degraded into hostelries
and shops, but all of them showing something of the glories of old
Orcadia. Thus we passed the time until three o'clock.

In the evening, when I joined the Stromness party, I found Captain
Abernethy exclaiming in indignant terms against the result of the
trial.

"I knew how it would go," he said; "but still I wanted just to show
them what was what, ye see. Of course, it was as well they went
through all the due forms. But only to think of Kinlay getting off
so cleanly! I don't mind paying the fine, Jack--it has got you off
going to jail--but, hang it, I don't like paying Kinlay's
expenses."

Kinlay had gained the case. Jack Paterson was fined fifteen
shillings and costs, or a fortnight in Kirkwall jail. Abernethy had
paid the fine on the spot. Carver, therefore, was throughout
successful.

Not only had he gained in the assault case, but in the matter of
the piloting he was equally fortunate. He was permitted to carry on
his business in the St. Magnus, and notices were posted up
forthwith on the quays at Stromness to inform the inhabitants that
Carver Kinlay of Crua Breck, in the parish of Sandwick, was a duly
certified pilot of Pomona.

Chapter XXV. A Family Removal.

I was one evening walking over the heathery braes of Lyndardy, in
the direction of Stromness, with my sister Jessie. The soft breeze
from across the sea played with her brown hair, which was bound by
the silken snood usually worn by the Orkney girls. A scarlet bootie
shawl covered her shoulders. In her hand she carried a basket
filled with kitchen vegetables from the farm.

As we walked our attention was directed to a number of fishing
boats putting out to sea, and to the slow and mournful song of the
fishermen