ion to their
talk, it ran pretty much upon natural history. In about five minutes she
had told him more about sea-birds and fish than ever he knew in his
life; and she wound up this information by offering to take him out on
the following morning, that he might himself catch some lythe.

"But I am a wretchedly bad fisherman, Miss Mackenzie," he said. "It is
some years since I tried to throw a fly."

"Oh, there is no need for good fishing when you catch lythe," she said
earnestly. "You will see Mr. Ingram catch them. It is only a big white
fly you will need, and a long line, and when the fish takes the fly,
down he goes--a great depth. Then when you have got him and he is
killed, you must cut the sides, as you see that is done, and string him
to a rope and trail him behind the boat all the way home. If you do not
do that, it iss no use at all to eat. But if you like the
salmon-fishing, my papa will teach you that. There is no one," she added
proudly, "can catch salmon like my papa--not even Duncan--and the
gentlemen who come in the autumn to Stornoway, they are quite surprised
when my papa goes to fish with them."

"I suppose he is a good shot too," said the young man, amused to notice
the proud way in which the girl spoke of her father.

"Oh, he can shoot anything. He will shoot a seal if he comes up but for
one moment above the water; and all the birds--he will get you all the
birds if you will wish to take any away with you. We have no deer on the
island--it is too small for that--but in the Lewis and in Harris there
are many, many thousands of deer, and my papa has many invitations when
the gentlemen come up in the autumn; and if you look in the game-book of
the lodges, you will see there is not any one who has shot so many deer
as my papa--not any one whatever."

At length they reached the building of dark and rude stone-work, with
its red coping, its spacious porch and its small enclosure of garden in
front. Lavender praised the flowers in this enclosure: he guessed they
were Sheila's particular care; but in truth there was nothing rare or
delicate among the plants growing in this exposed situation. There were
a few clusters of large yellow pansies, a calceolaria or two, plenty of
wallflower, some clove-pinks, and an abundance of sweet-william in all
manner of colors. But the chief beauty of the small garden was a
magnificent tree-fuchsia which grew in front of one of the windows, and
was covered with deep ros