ssive we are often instructed in
our sleep. David awakened with a plan of life clearly in his mind. He
resolved to remain with Barbara Traill, and follow his occupation
of fishing, and do all that he could to make his cousin Nanna
happy. The intense strength of his family affection led him to
this resolve. He had not fallen in love with Nanna. As a wife
she was sacred in his eyes, and it never entered his mind that any
amount of ill treatment could lessen Sinclair's claim upon her. But
though far off, she was his cousin; the blood of the Borsons flowed
alike through both their hearts; and David, who could feel for
all humanity, could feel most of all for Nanna and Vala.

Nanna herself had acknowledged this claim. He remembered how gladly
she had welcomed him; he could feel yet the warm clasp of her hand,
and the shining of her eyes was like nothing he had ever before seen.
Even little Vala had been pleased to lie in his strong arms. She
had put up her small mouth for him to kiss, and had slept an hour
upon his breast. As he thought of that kiss he felt it on his lips,
warm and sweet. Yes, indeed; there was love in that poor little hut
that David Borson could not bear to lose.

So he said to Barbara in the morning: "I will stay with you while
it pleases us both."

And Barbara answered: "A great help and comfort thou wilt be to me,
and doubtless God sent thee."

VI

KINDRED--THE QUICK AND THE DEAD

Shetland was, then, to be David's home, and he accepted the destiny
gladly. He felt near to the people, and he admired the old gray
town, with its roving, adventurous population. His first duty was
to remove his personal belongings from his boat to Barbara Traill's
house, and when this was done it was easy enough to set himself to
business; for as soon as he went among the fishers and said, "My name
is Borson, and I am the son of your old mate Liot Borson," he found
himself in a circle of outstretched hands. And as he had brought
his nets and lines with him, he had no difficulty in getting men
who were glad to help him with his fishing, and to instruct him in
the peculiarities of the coast and the set of its tides and currents.

For the rest, there was no sailor or fisher in Lerwick who was so
fearless and so wise in all sea-lore as David Borson. Sink or swim,
he was every inch a seaman. He read the sea as a landsman reads
a book; he knew all its moods and its deceitfulness, and the more
placid it was the more