I had not gone far, however, when I heard a quick step behind me.

“Ericson, Ericson!” some one called.

I turned and saw Lieutenant Fox following me in full uniform, and with a young midshipman attending him.  He came up to me, and, after a few ordinary observations, said: 

“I wanted to ask you something, Ericson.  We’re short-handed on the Clasper, and we need the help of a man who knows these islands well; someone who knows all about the people, and can be of service in keeping down the smuggling.  Now, what d’ye say?  Will you join us yourself?”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Fox,” I replied, for I had already half made up my mind about the piloting, and with true Orkney instinct I clung to the old ways of my family.  “I’m afraid not, sir.  You see I’m aboard the Falcon just now, and if I leave Davie Flett it will only be to join the new pilots.

“But if you’re needing a hand,” I continued, thinking just then of Willie Hercus, “I can get you a lad that knows just about as much of the Orkneys as I do, one that has always wished to be a man-o’-war’s man.”

“I’d rather have yourself, Ericson,” said the officer.  “Just think about it, will you?  It’s a good opening for you, and you may yet reach the quarterdeck and become an admiral, and fly your own pennant before you’re as old as Davie Flett.  Let me know as soon as you decide.  But if you can’t join us, send your friend.  Good evening!”

As the young lieutenant walked away with a great clattering of his long sword, I looked at his laced cocked hat and his epaulettes, and fancied myself in a similar uniform.  However, my native simplicity came to my rescue, and, good as this opportunity of serving my Queen appeared, I yet thought fondly of the pilot’s busy, perilous life.  Something told me that it was my destiny to be a pilot, as my fathers for three generations had been before me.

I went into Oliver Gray’s inn, and there found my skipper, Davie Flett, awaiting me.  He was talking with a little old man, whom I soon recognized as Isaac the Dutch Jew, who had bought the viking’s ruby from Tom Kinlay.  When I entered, Isaac retired to a far corner of the parlour and watched me closely as I talked with Captain Flett.

“When do we sail, captain?” I asked, as I sat down beside the skipper.

“Tomorrow night,” said he.

And I judged that I should now have to determine without delay which of the three appointments I should take—­remain with Flett, join the revenue cutter, or become a pilot.

“I’ve just been speaking with Lieutenant Fox of the Clasper,” I said.  “He wants me to go into the revenue business.”

“Ay! and so you’re to be a blue jacket, eh?” mused Flett, without offering any objection to my leaving the Falcon.

“No,” I replied, “I’m not sure yet that I’ll join them, captain.  The fact is, I have also seen Jack Paterson, and he wants me to become a pilot.”