"And where are Loch-na-Keal and Ulva and Scridain?" demanded Haward.
"Somewhere in North Britain, I presume?"

The second question broke the spell. The man glanced over his shoulder,
saw that he was not alone, and with one sweep of his hand blotting loch
and island and mountain out of existence, rose to his feet, and opposed to
Haward's gaze a tall, muscular frame, high features slightly pockmarked,
and keen dark blue eyes.

"I was dreaming, and did not hear you," he said, civilly enough. "It's not
often that any one comes to the store at this time of day. What d' ye
lack?"

As he spoke he moved toward the doorway, through which showed shelves and
tables piled with the extraordinary variety of goods which were deemed
essential to the colonial trade. "Are you the storekeeper?" asked Haward,
keeping pace with the other's long stride.

"It's the name they call me by," answered the man curtly; then, as he
chanced to turn his eyes upon the landing, his tone changed, and a smile
irradiated his countenance. "Here comes a customer," he remarked, "that'll
make you bide your turn."

A boat, rowed by a young boy and carrying a woman, had slipped out of the
creek, and along the river bank to the steps of the landing. When they
were reached, the boy sat still, the oars resting across his knees, and
his face upturned to a palace beautiful of pearl and saffron cloud; but
the woman mounted the steps, and, crossing the boards, came up to the door
and the men beside it. Her dress was gray and unadorned, and she was young