most precious. Now he had to wear thick shoes on the hill of
Maam or sweat like a common son of the shore in the harvest-fields.
At night upon his pillow in the barn loft he would lie and mourn for
unreturning days and loud and clamorous experience. Or at morning ere
he started the work of the day he would ascend the little tulloch behind
the house and look far off at a patch of blue--the inner arm of the
ocean.

Nan found him in one of his cranky moods, fretful at circumstances,
and at her father who kept him there on the shore, and had no word of
another ship to take the place of the _Jean_. Of late he had been worse
than usual, for he had learned that the master was bound for abroad, and
though he was a sure pensioner so long as Maam held together, it meant
his eternal severance from the sea and ships.

Nan threw herself upon the grass beside him as he twisted hay-bands for
the stacks, and said no more than "Good afternoon" for a little.

He gloomed at her, and hissed between his teeth a Skye pibroch. For a
time he would have her believe he was paying no attention, but ever and
anon he would let slip a glance of inquiry from the corner of his
eyes. He was not too intent upon his own grievances to see that she was
troubled with hers, but he knew her well enough to know that she must
introduce them herself if they were to be introduced at all.

He changed his tune, let a little more affability come into his face,
and it was an old air of her childhood on the _Jean_ he had at his
lips. As he whistled it he saw a little moisture at her eyes; she was
recalling the lost old happiness of the days when she had gone about
with that song at her lips. But he knew her better than to show that he
perceived it.

"Have you heard that father's going away, Duncan?" she asked in a
little.

"I have been hearing that for five years," said he shortly. He had not
thought her worries would have been his own like this.

"Yes, but this time he goes."

"So they're telling me," said Black Duncan.

He busied himself more closely than ever with his occupation.

"Do you think he should be taking me?" she asked in a little.

He stopped his work immediately, and looked up startled.

"The worst curse!" said he in Gaelic. "He could not be doing that. He
goes to the Gold Coast. Do I not know it--the white man's grave?"

"But this Glen Shira," said she, pretending merriment, "it's the white
girl's grave for me, Duncan. Should not I be gl