We were sitting over our early breakfast, my mother, Jessie, and I, discussing the family resources for the coming winter—­a subject that had given us much anxiety since the death of my father and uncle.  Our concern was intensified by the fact that our harvest had not turned out so fruitful as had been anticipated; for the oats were light in the grain and the potatoes diseased; and the expenses incurred for repairs and improvements on the farm, had well-nigh exhausted the ready money that had been left by my father or procured by the sale of the small boat and various articles of furniture from the old home.  To make matters worse—­and this it was that suggested the discussion—­Jessie had been down in Stromness on the previous evening, and there ascertained that the price paid for straw-plaiting, which was never very high, was to be greatly reduced.

“I’m sure we’re ill enough off already without them cutting us down at such a rate,” said my mother, as she took a sip of tea from her saucer.  “If it had not been for what the dominie brought from Edinburgh for Hal’s silver, we’d have been most hard pressed this while back.  But what we’re to do when the winter comes round, I dinna ken.  It’s certain we’ll not have meal enough to serve us; and there’s the rent to pay, and clothes to get, and nothing coming in at all.”

“Well, mother,” said Jessie, “dinna take on so ill about it.  We’re not more hard pressed than our neighbours.  Look at Janet Ross with all her bairns, and her rent owing for three terms; and auld Betty Matthew, at the Croft, who hasna a penny forbye what she gets at the kelp burning.  We have our two bonnie cows, and a score of good sheep, and all our hens.”

“We have all that,” replied my mother.  “But I’m thinking the sheep must be sold at Martinmas, or we’ll not have much of a living for winter.”

“Then, if you sell the sheep, Halcro will need to go to the fishing,” said Jessie.

“He’ll need to get work somewhere.  The lad canna aye be idle; and there’s nothing but the fishing for him, I doubt, if he doesna gang to the piloting with Carver Kinlay.”

“No, not that,” I said.  “I’d rather burn kelp than have anything to do with him.”

So it was agreed that our sheep were to be sold, and that I must find work of some sort whereby to help the family.

Now, in the afternoon, when they found I did not come back to tea, they surmised that I had already gone to look for employment at Kirkwall, and they waited impatiently for my return.  After tea my mother went to the byre to attend to the cows, and Jessie stood for a long time at the door looking out for me.  Seeing no sign of me, nor of the sheep, she walked in the direction of the North Hill, there to get a wider prospect.  She looked towards every likely quarter, but the last place she thought of looking at was Kinlay’s clover field.  There were some sheep grazing there, but Jessie never imagined that they were the sheep of Lyndardy; for what should take them into that forbidden pasture?