plentifully, among the potatoes.

Tom was a tall, large-boned lad, and his feet, which were encased
in rivlins, or rough hide shoes, projected several inches below his
trousers; his arms, too, seemed to have grown far beyond the length
of his jacket sleeves. His untidy black hair and dark eyes
contrasted strangely with the fair and delicate beauty of his
sister Thora. A stranger might have taken Thora to be of pure Norse
family, and her adventurous spirit would have justified the belief.
But Tom took after his father, whose type was that of a race not
uncommon in the north of Scotland, and called--for I know not what
reason--"The dark men of Connemara."

"Tom," I asked when he was beside us, "what do you say to Thora
coming with us to the sealing?"

"What! Certainly not," replied Tom, who was ever jealous of his
sister and loved not to favour her in any way. "What would a lassie
do at the sealing? Let her go back home and do her lessons, and try
if she can win to the head of the class again."

"Indeed," said Thora with suppressed indignation, "it is you who
should try to do that, Tom. You're the eldest and biggest lad in
the school, and have never yet been at the head of the class, dunce
that you are! But away with you to the sealing. I do not care, for
I have adventure of my own. I know where there's a hen harrier
building her nest on the Black Craigs, and it's not you I will tell
where it is, my lad."

This was a successful parting shot from Thora. She well knew that