was on his face, and some vision of delight before his wide-open eyes,
which it is not for mortals to attempt to fathom.

"Poor fellow!" exclaimed Val, as we took our way home; "life has held
little of happiness for him. Indeed, one can hardly call it life in
the full sense of the word; it was mere existence, as far as we can
see."

"Let's hope that life has begun for him at last," I said reverently.

"I have little doubt of that," replied the priest.




VII

SMUGGLERS


"My enemy's dog,
Though he had bit me, should have stood that night
Against my fire."
(_"King Lear"--Act IV, Sc. 7._)


"Aebody kent Davie Forbes wes tarrible at the smugglin'," said Willy.

We had been discussing the _pros_ and _cons_ of illicit
distilling--known inland as "smuggling"--and I found that Willy agreed