"You appear to have studied the weather," he said.

"Yes," I answered. "In Stromness we all notice the wind, and father
has taught me to know all the signs of the weather."

"Then your father is a fisherman, I suppose?" he remarked, as he
turned to walk down the brae with me.

"Father's a pilot," I said. "I'm Sandy Ericson's lad."

"Ericson! Ah! I know Ericson. He's a splendid fellow, a regular
Norseman, in fact."

And then he proceeded to praise my father as I had so often before
heard him praised, and with all of which I did not venture to
disagree.

He spoke with me until we reached the entrance to the town, where I
noticed Andrew Drever, my schoolmaster, walking in advance of us,
carrying his rod under his arm and a string of fish in his hand.

"Good evening, sir!" I said, as we overtook him.

"Hello, Halcro, my lad!" he exclaimed, as cheerily as though he had
not seen me for weeks.

"Good evening!" said my sailor companion to the dominie. "I see you
have some fine trout there."