Now this, I thought, was a very graceful invitation for Andrew Drever to give to a stranger who had only a few moments before implied that his mother was a witch.  But it was a kindness such as he was ever showing; and I must add that Captain Gordon was one of those easy-mannered sailors who at once give an agreeable impression.  I myself liked him from the very first, and I had afterwards many reasons for rejoicing in the friendship thus casually made.

“I have something here for you, sir,” I said to the schoolmaster, holding up the dead falcon that I carried.

“Oh! come along with us, too, Halcro.  Send your dog home, and come and take some supper with me.”

I assented, and continued walking by his side as he talked with the captain.

We had now entered the street of Stromness.  It was a narrow passage which one might span with arms outstretched, and paved without a causeway—­for it was built when there were no vehicles in Orkney—­and crooked as the inside of a whelk shell, suggesting starlight smuggling and romantic meetings.  In the windows and obscure corners of the passages dim lamps peeped forth in the darkness, and the flickering firelight in the houses fell upon the stones through the open doorways, whereat sailors stood smoking their pipes and gossiping women talked.

We turned up a little lane that led to the schoolhouse, and my dog trotted home without me, to let my mother know I was near.

Chapter X. The Dominie Explains.

We found Grace Drever preparing the peat fire for frying the fish.  The good old woman did not hear us enter, but Andrew was a punctual man, and it was with no show of surprise that his mother at length recognized his presence.

Grace Drever was an active woman, somewhat bent with age, but with no signs of decaying faculties, save in the case of her extreme deafness.  Her hair was still black, and her eyesight was quick.  Her memory for local events was as good as an almanac to the people of Stromness, and there was something strangely uncanny about her nature that was itself almost an excuse to those who hinted that she had dealings with the underworld.  She was one of the older style of inhabitants, who retained the primitive habits and customs of the island, whose spoken language had in it a mixture of the Norse, which distinguished it from the simpler Scotch dialect familiarly used by us of the younger generation, and yet more from the purer English into which we were drilled at school.

Andrew Drever generally spoke good English in the presence of strangers, though he lapsed into the broad native speech in friendly talk with the fisher folk.

“I hae brought Captain Gordon wi’ me to hae a taste o’ the trout,” he said to his mother as we entered the room, where she bent over the fire.

“Gordon!  Gordon!  I dinna ken ony Gordon.  What’s the name o’ his ship?”