however, had several miles to travel. Tom and Thora Kinlay lived at
Crua Breck farm, distant from Stromness four miles; and little
Hilda Paterson, the youngest girl in the school, lived at her
father's croft away beyond Stenness, and walked the five
miles--barefooted--twice a day.

When I got home the brose for dinner was cooling on the windowsill,
and my mother was frying the fish I had caught in the morning. My
sister Jessie sat near the window plaiting straw--an industry
common in Orkney at that time.

"Hello, Hal! back already?" Jessie exclaimed, putting her work
aside as I threw my books and slate in the corner beside her. "Come
away and look out for father. He has just brought in a new ship."

We went out upon the little jetty where I had fished in the
morning, at the extremity of the passage in which our house stood,
and there we waited and watched for my father's boat.

With this stone pier my earliest recollections were connected. When
I was but an infant my father had carried me out in his great
strong arms, and for the first time showed me the sun rising over
the furrowed hills of Orphir. He had directed my childish eyes to
the deep green of the sea water as it rippled gently against the
wall of our house. It was here that, as a boy, I had, by rolling
over the pier like a ball, made a more intimate acquaintance with
the element that was to be as familiar to me as my native air.
Here, too, I had caught my first fish, and hence despatched to
unknown lands my little fleet of wooden boats with their quaint
paper sails.