got
debating that the bargain had not been a fair one, then that Havnholme
was not included with the other skerries, and so it went as long as
they lived. After that their sons took it up, and disputed, and
fought, and never got nearer the truth, for there were no papers to be
found to prove who was right; and the tenants who had witnessed the
'turning of turf' would only speak as pleased their master. They
wrangled all their lives about it. One would put his sheep on the
holme, and the other would promptly go and shove the poor beasts into
the sea. One would build a skeoe,[2] and the other would pull it down.
These were lawless days, and men might do as they pleased."

"Just like Vikinger," said Yaspard, who quite enjoyed the story.
"Well?"

"They never would speak to each other, even if they met at the church
door, or at a neighbour's funeral. It was very sinful; and they would
not let their children become acquainted. My father made me drop
acquaintance with my school friend when she married Mr. Garson, for no
reason but because she married the son of his enemy. It has been the
same since your uncle came to be Laird. If your father had lived it
would have been different, for _he_ bore ill-feeling to no one; but he
was so much away with his ship, he never got a chance to put things
right; which I _know_ he could have done, for the Laird of Lunda--who
died two years ago--was one of the best of men. A land-grabber! My
friend's husband. He was as good a man as Shetland ere saw. He tried
again and again to be friends with Brues, but it was no use, and it will
be of no use his boy trying. I know."

"_Something_ shall be of use," muttered Yaspard; then aloud he asked,
"Will uncle answer this letter?"

"My dear, he's done it. There is his answer on the table. He read it
to me, and I felt as if I were listening to a clap of thunder."

"What did he say?"

"He said that Havnholme was his, and that he meant to do with his own
as he pleased. And he said, 'If you set foot in Boden you will receive
the thrashing which such a coxcomb deserves.' He told me to send the
Harrison boys across the sound in your little boat early to-morrow, and
they were to leave the letter at the post-office. They were not to go
to the Ha' for their lives. Brues never told me to do a harder thing
than to send such a letter to the son of my friend--to the poor lad who
is trying to live like his true-hearted father, and to be at pe