“How is it you are not at the fishing, Halcro?” inquired Thora when we were alone.  “I saw the schoolmaster away down at the Bush just now as I came past.  He seemed to be catching very little, though.”

“Ah!” I said, “I doubt it’s too clear a day for the trout.  We’re off to Skaill Vie to see if we can catch a seal.”

“That will be fine fun,” said Thora, with a touch of envy in her voice.  “I wish I was going with you.  Will you not take me?”

“Indeed,” I returned, not unwilling that she should join us in our sport, “I’d be real glad if you would come.  But here’s Tom, we’ll ask him.”

Robbie and Tom approached across a plot of potatoes.  Tom was eating a huge piece of oatcake, and slashing, with a long stick he carried, at the heads of the thistles that grew, all too plentifully, among the potatoes.

Tom was a tall, large-boned lad, and his feet, which were encased in rivlins, or rough hide shoes, projected several inches below his trousers; his arms, too, seemed to have grown far beyond the length of his jacket sleeves.  His untidy black hair and dark eyes contrasted strangely with the fair and delicate beauty of his sister Thora.  A stranger might have taken Thora to be of pure Norse family, and her adventurous spirit would have justified the belief.  But Tom took after his father, whose type was that of a race not uncommon in the north of Scotland, and called—­for I know not what reason—­“The dark men of Connemara.”

“Tom,” I asked when he was beside us, “what do you say to Thora coming with us to the sealing?”

“What!  Certainly not,” replied Tom, who was ever jealous of his sister and loved not to favour her in any way.  “What would a lassie do at the sealing?  Let her go back home and do her lessons, and try if she can win to the head of the class again.”

“Indeed,” said Thora with suppressed indignation, “it is you who should try to do that, Tom.  You’re the eldest and biggest lad in the school, and have never yet been at the head of the class, dunce that you are!  But away with you to the sealing.  I do not care, for I have adventure of my own.  I know where there’s a hen harrier building her nest on the Black Craigs, and it’s not you I will tell where it is, my lad.”

This was a successful parting shot from Thora.  She well knew that any lad in Orkney would envy her the discovery of a falcon’s nest, and that Tom, more than any other, would be jealous of her finding what he might have searched for in vain.

“Just fancy that lass finding a harrier’s nest!” he murmured as we went along.  “I wonder if it’s true!  I bet she only said that out of spite because we would not let her come with us.  But who wants a slip of a girl at such work?  She’d only frighten the seals and prevent us from catching any.  It’s my opinion we have enough of the girls in the school without them joining us in our sports.  What do you say, Ericson?”