“’Deed I will not,” said Donald sturdily.

Lavender stared at him.

“Oh no:  you wass doing quite enough the day already, or you would not hef tumbled into the boat whatever.  And supposing that you was to hef tumbled into the water, you would have been trooned as sure as you wass alive.”

“And a good job, too, Donald,” said the younger man, idly looking at the lapping green water.

Donald shook his head gravely:  “You would not say that if you had friends of yours that was trooned, and if you had seen them when they went down in the water.”

“They say it is an easy death, Donald.”

“They neffer tried it that said that,” said the old fisherman gloomily.  “It wass one day the son of my sister wass coming over from Saltcoats—­But I hef no wish to speak of it; and that wass but one among ferry many that I have known.”

“How long is it since you were in the Lewis, did you say?” Lavender asked, changing the subject.  Donald was accustomed to have the talk suddenly diverted into this channel.  He could not tell why the young English gentleman wanted him continually to be talking about the Lewis.

“Oh, it is many and many a year ago, as I hef said; and you will know far more about the Lewis than I will.  But Stornoway, that is a fine big town; and I hef a cousin there that keeps a shop, and is a very rich man whatever, and many’s the time he will ask me to come and see him.  And if the Lord be spared, maybe I will some day.”

“You mean if you be spared, Donald.”

“Oh, ay:  it is all wan,” said Donald.

Lavender had brought with him some bread and cheese in a piece of paper for luncheon; and this store of frugal provisions having been opened out, the old fisherman was invited to join in—­an invitation he gravely but not eagerly accepted.  He took off his blue bonnet and said grace:  then he took the bread and cheese in his hand and looked round inquiringly.  There was a stone jar of water in the bottom of the boat:  that was not what Donald was looking after.  Lavender handed him the black bottle he had brought out from the cottage, which was more to his mind.  And then, this humble meal despatched, the old man was persuaded to go back to his post, and Lavender continued his work.

The short afternoon was drawing to a close when young Johnny Eyre came sailing in from Loch Fyne, himself and a boy of ten or twelve managing that crank little boat with its top-heavy sails.  “Are you at work yet, Lavender?” he said.  “I never saw such a beggar.  It’s getting quite dark.”

“What sort of luncheon did Newstead give you, Johnny?”

“Oh, something worth going for, I can tell you.  You want to live in Tarbert for a month or two to find out the value of decent cooking and good wine.  He was awfully surprised when I described this place to him.  He wouldn’t believe you were living here in a cottage:  I said a garret, for I pitched it hot and strong, mind you.  I said you were living in a garret, that you never saw a razor, and lived on oatmeal porridge and whisky, and that your only amusement was going out at night and risking your neck in this delightful boat of mine.  You should have seen him examining this remarkable vessel.  And there were two ladies on board, and they were asking after you, too.”