we sat silent except for auld
Kate whimpering at the fireside.

"These were the days and these were the nights, ochone and ochone, for
the like o' them we'll be seeing nevermore."

And in the morning the women made a meal, moving stealthily about the
house and keeping together when the men went out to their beasts--for
birth or death, wedding or christening, the beasts must be looked to,
and that's good farming. The seas were breaking white in the bay and
the ships lay at the stretch of their cables, but although we searched
long and ardently, we could not find the _Seagull_. We were downcast
and silent, and no man looked at his neighbour, for the fear was on all
of our hearts that McGilp and his crew were lost, and at last I voiced
my dread to the innkeeper.

"Ye do not ken McGilp to be speaking that way," said he, and his voice
was hoarse as a raven's croak. "We could not have run a cargo last
night wi' the sea like a boiling pot; and if the _Gull_ had anchored
off the Rhu Ban Cove there would be plenty to be wondering why she was
there. No, no, my lad; there's sailor men on the _Gull_, and a wee
thing will not frighten them. She just ran before it, man, and she's
standing off and on till the night."

And so it proved, for that night McGilp himself was rowed ashore, and
his eyes were red as a rabbit's wi' the lashing o' the sea, and the
white salt was dried on his beard.

With him was McNeilage, his mate, his face red and shining like a
well-fed minister, and the drink to his thrapple.

"A great night last night," said he. "Och, a night like the old
roaring times when every ship on God's seven seas was a fortune for the
lifting."

We were on the shore at the Rhu Ban, working and toiling at the cargo
with the oars muffled, and no man speaking above his breath, and when
we had the cargo in the coves, and the seaweed and trash from the shore
concealing it, we made our way to the outhouse where McKelvie's lass
had waited, for there were friends of the dead Laird's in the house,
and new men are hard to trust in the smuggling. And at the outhouse I
spoke to fierce Ronny McKinnon as he stood among the crew.

"Ronny," said I, "there was a bonny lass putting herself about for ye,
or ye might have been listening to mice cheeping instead o' the waves
out there."

"I've been in many's the ploy," says Ronny, "and the lassies liked me
well enough, except just one."

"Would her name be Mirren now?" said I.

"I'