eck tents for shelter from sun
or rain. With those sturdy black gabbarls and barques and those bronze
fishers, the bay from the quay to the walls of the Duke's garden, in its
season, stirs with life.

More than once when he had come to the town Gilian looked a little way
off from the Cross upon this busy concourse in the bay and wished that
he might venture on the quay, but the throng of tall, dark-shirted
fishermen and seafarers frightened him so that he must stand aloof
guessing at the nearer interest of the spectacle. Now that he was a town
boy with whole days in which to muster courage, he spurred himself up to
walk upon the quay at the first opportunity. It was the afternoon, the
tide lapped high upon the slips and stairs, a heaving lazy roll of water
so clear that the star-fish on the sandy bottom might plainly be seen
through great depths. The gunnies of the ships o'ertopped by many feet
the quay-wall and their chains rose slanting, tight from the rings. The
fishermen and their boats were far down on Cowal after signs of herring;
the bay was given up to barque and gabbart alone. For once a slumber
seemed to lie upon the place for ordinary so throng and cheerful; the
quay was Gilian's alone as he stepped wonderingly upon it and turned
an eye to the square ports open for an airing to the dens. In all the
company of the ships thus swaying at the quay-side there was no sign
of life beyond the smoke that rose from the stunted funnels. The boy's
fancy played among the masts like the birds from the ivy. These were
the galleys of Inishtore, that rode upon the seven seas for a king's son
with a hauberk of gold. The spicy isles, the silver sands, the songs the
_graugach_ sang below the prows when the sea dashed--they came all into
his vision of those little tarred hulks of commerce. He thought how fine
it would be to set foot upon those decks and loose the fastenings, and
drop down the sea-slope of the shepherds' stories till he came upon
Ibrisail, happy isle of play and laughter, where the sun never drops
below the ocean's marge.

In one of the vessels behind him, as he mused, a seaman noiselessly
thrust his head out at a companion to look the hour upon the town's
clock, and the boy, pale, fair-haired, pondering, with eyes upon the
shrouds of a gabbart, forced himself by his stillness and inaction upon
the man's notice. He was a little, stout, well-built man, with a face
tanned by sunshine and salt air to the semblance o