e was that which gathered round Davie's ingle that night,
the ingle from which the ale-house never again had power to allure him.

Jean, the gudewife, with her sewing in her hand, and the old gray cat
at her feet, shall be the central figure. Grandmother sits on one side
of the fireplace, spinning flax--ever and anon bursting out into some
old Jacobite song--and Davie himself in the arm-chair, on the other
side, with Jamie on his knee. On a low seat close by him is Nannie--now
looking into her father's face, and now glancing beyond--for there sits
Robbie Ainslee.

And so we drop the curtain.

LLOYD'S FIRE ON THE BEACH.

Lloyd and Jem were squatted up among the rocks, watching a vessel out
to sea.

It was a cold evening,--Christmas eve,--the night coming on fast. No
vessel had any business to be out there among the breakers, running in
straight on the bar; that is, if any man aboard of her knew what he was
about.

So Lloyd and Jem said, at least, and they had a right to know, as they
had been born and bred on that bit of rocky island, and knew every foot
of the sea within a mile, as well as they knew their own crab-boats and
drag-nets.

The vessel was a small schooner, such as ran down to the island from
town in summer with flour, and took back crabs and fish.

"But what can she want now?" said Jem.

"She don't know the coast," said Lloyd. "She'll be on the rocks in an
hour, if she don't tack."

Jem went to school over on the mainland in winter. There was no need
for him to work so hard, either. The money he made by gunning or
fishing he spent for tops and kites. But Lloyd's mother, Mrs. Wells,
who lived in a little brown cottage back of the rocks, was not able to
keep him and herself without his help. For two or three years he had
worked as hard as any man on the island. There had been another son of
Mrs. Wells, older than Lloyd, a young man called John. But he had been
mate on the _Swallow_, that was wrecked on the Irish coast four years
ago, when all the crew were lost--never heard of again.

So there was nobody left but Lloyd. In winter, when there was no
fishing, he whittled crosses and paper-knives out of the cedars,
trimming them with lichen, and sent them over to town for sale.

In the evenings he would go out for a run and whiff of fresh air. He
and Jem were cruising about when they spied the schooner.

They sat quite still a good while, watching her beating about, going
out to the open