"Yes. Don't you think we may as well turn now?" said Mabberly, who made
it a point always, if possible, to carry the approbation of the skipper
with him.

"I think it wass petter if we had niver come oot."

"Why so, Captain?"

"Because it's comin' on to plow. Putt her roond, Shames."

James McGregor, to whom the order was given, and who was the _other_ man
of the crew, obeyed. The yacht, which had latterly been beating against
a headwind, now ran gaily before it towards the Scottish coast, but when
night closed in no outlying islands were visible.

"We wull hev to keep a sharp look-oot, Shames," remarked the skipper, as
he stopped in his monotonous perambulation of the deck to glance at the
compass.

"Oo, ay," responded McGregor, with the air of a man who knew that as
well as his superior.

"What do you fear?" asked Mabberly, coming on deck at the moment to take
a look at the night before turning in.

"I fear naething, sir," replied McPherson, gravely.

"I mean, what danger threatens us?"

"None that I ken o'; but we're makin' the land, an' it behooves us to
ca' canny."

It may be well to remark here that the skipper, having voyaged much on
all parts of the Scottish coast, had adopted and mixed up with his own
peculiar English several phrases and words in use among the lowland
Scots.

Next morning, when Mabberly again visited the deck, he found the skipper
standing on the same spot where he had left him, apparently in the same
attitude, and with the same grave, sleepless expression on his cast-iron
features. The boy, Robin Tips, was at the helm, looking very sleepy.
He was an English boy, smart, active, and wide-awake--in the slang
sense--in which sense also we may add that he was "cheeky."

But neither the skipper nor Tips was very visible at the distance of
three yards, owing to a dense fog which prevailed. It was one of those
white, luminous, dry fogs which are not at all depressing to the
spirits, though obstructive to the eyes, and which are generally, if not
always, accompanied by profound calm.

"Has it been like this long?" asked Mabberly, after the first
salutations.

"Ay, sir, a coot while."

"And have we made no progress during the night?"

"Oo, ay, a coot bit. We should nae be far off some o' the islands noo,
but it's hard to say, wi' naither sun, moon, nor stars veesible to let
us fin' oot where we are."

Jackman and Barret came on deck at the moment, closely followed by Qu