CHAPTER V.
SHEILA SINGS.
A knocking at Ingram's door.
"Well, what's the matter?"
"Will ye be goin' to ta fishin', Mr. Ingram?"
"Is that you, Duncan? How the devil have you got over from Mevaig at
this hour of the morning?"
"Oh, there wass a bit breeze tis morning, and I hef prought over ta
Maighdean-mhara. And there iss a very goot ripple on ta watter, if you
will tek ta other gentleman to try for ta salmon."
"All right! Hammer at his door until he gets up. I shall be ready in
ten minutes."
About half an hour thereafter the two young men were standing at the
front of Mackenzie's house, examining the enormous rod that Duncan had
placed against the porch. It was still early morning, and there was a
cold wind blowing in from the sea, but there was not a speck of cloud
in the sky, and the day promised to be hot. The plain of the Atlantic
was no longer a sheet of glass: it was rough and gray, and far out an
occasional quiver of white showed where a wave was hissing over. There
was not much of a sea on, but the heavy wash of the water round the
rocks and sandy bays could be distinctly heard in the silence of the
morning.
And what was this moving object down there by the shore where the
Maighdean-mhara lay at anchor? Both the young men at once recognized
the glimmer of the small white feather and the tightly-fitting blue
dress of the sea-princess.
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