o my uncle's at
Lyndardy?"

"Weel, ye see, lad, I dinna mind where I gang. One place is as good
as another, and this is very well in a shower of rain. I was west
at Crua Breck when the rain came on sae heavy; and I hae been here
these twa hours tryin' to strike a light, but ye see the tinder's
wet--

"Try you if ye can do it, lad;" and the old man handed me the
flint.

"Aweel, then," he continued, "I opened the door at Crua Breck, just
as I would open any door in Orkney, be it rich or poor. But wad
they let me in, think ye? Na, na. Carver was sittin' yonder, as he
aye does on the rainy days, when there's nae gettin' aboot the
farm, preachin' away before a bonnie fire. But the auld hypocrite
wouldna let me in. What cares he for the Holy Word? If it werena
for his goodwife, he'd never open the Scriptures. Ay, but it's a
lang while he'll be preachin' any good into yon blackguard son o'
his. There's not a house of harder hearts in all the Mainland than
Crua Breck. They all take after Carver; ilka body o' them, except
peerie Thora."

"Yes," I said feelingly, "Thora's kinder than all the rest."

"Kinder! Ay is she. She's no' like ane o' the same family. I mind
ae stormy night in the last winter, when Carver had shut the door
in my face, Thora cam' after me and, 'Colin,' says she, 'come away
here, and I'll gie ye a bed in the byre;' and with that she took me
in among the kine and gied me some oaten bannocks and a flagon o'
warm milk. And then she made up a bed upon the hay, wi' a good warm
plaid to wrap mysel' in. 'See there, now, Colin,' says she. 'Rest
ye here, and I'll let ye out before my father rises i' the
mornin'.' Now wasna that kindness for ye, Halcro?"

"Ay, Colin, that was just like wee Thora."

Whilst Colin was telling me these things I was busy trying to
kindle the fire; but try as I would, it could not be done.

"Oh, never mind the fire, Colin!" I said. "Just come along wi' me
to my uncle's farm at Lyndardy. Ye'll get good shelter and food
there. That's far better than staying in this ruined place."

So the old man got up on his feet, and we walked together to the
farm.

My sister Jessie, who frequently came up to Lyndardy to stay over
the Sabbath, was in the kitchen when we arrived, and while we were
drying our clothes before the fire she got some good warm broth
ready for us, and some new-made scones.

Over our meal I told Jessie of my adventure with the otter, and the
death of my dog. She want