ate than yon. Now there is but one thing for thee to do: thou must
break wi' Ragon Torr, an' that quick an' soon."

"Know this, my mother, a friend is to be taken wi' his faults."

"Thou knows this, John: I hae forty years mair than thou hast, an'
years ken mair than books. An' wi' a' thy book skill hast thou ne'er
read that 'Evil communications corrupt gude manners'? Mak up thy mind
that I shall tak it vera ill if thou sail again this year wi' that
born heathen;" and with these words Dame Alison Sabay rose up from the
stone bench at her cottage door and went dourly into the houseplace.

John stood on the little jetty which ran from the very doorstep into
the bay, and looked thoughtfully over towards the sweet green isle of
Graemsay; but neither the beauty of land or sea, nor the splendor of
skies bright with the rosy banners of the Aurora gave him any answer
to the thoughts which troubled him. "I'll hae to talk it o'er wi'
Christine," he said decidedly, and he also turned into the house.

Christine was ten years older than her brother John. She had known
much sorrow, but she had lived through and lived down all her trials
and come out into the peace on the other side. She was sitting by the
peat fire knitting, and softly crooning an old Scotch psalm to the
click of her needles. She answered John's look with a sweet, grave
smile, and a slight nod towards the little round table, upon which
there was a plate of smoked goose and some oaten cake for his supper.

"I carena to eat a bite, Christine; this is what I want o' thee: the
skiff is under the window; step into it, an' do thou go on the bay wi'
me an hour."

"I havena any mind to go, John. It is nine by the clock, an' to-morrow
the peat is to coil an' the herring to kipper; yes, indeed."

"Well an' good. But here is matter o' mair account than peat an'
herring. Wilt thou come?"

"At the end I ken weel thou wilt hae thy way. Mother, here is John,
an' he is for my going on the bay wi' him."

"Then thou go. If John kept aye as gude company he wouldna be like to
bring my gray hairs wi' sorrow to the grave."

John did not answer this remark until they had pushed well off from
the sleeping town, then he replied fretfully, "Yes, what mother says
is true enough; but a man goes into the warld. A' the fingers are not
alike, much less one's friends. How can a' be gude?"

"To speak from the heart, John, wha is it?"

"Ragon Torr. Thou knows we hae sat i' the same boat