CHAPTER II. WHAT THE WRECK HAD BROUGHT TO AROS.


IT was half-flood when I got the length of Aros; and there was
nothing for it but to stand on the far shore and whistle for Rorie
with the boat. I had no need to repeat the signal. At the first
sound, Mary was at the door flying a handkerchief by way of answer,
and the old long-legged serving-man was shambling down the gravel
to the pier. For all his hurry, it took him a long while to pull
across the bay; and I observed him several times to pause, go into
the stern, and look over curiously into the wake. As he came
nearer, he seemed to me aged and haggard, and I thought he avoided
my eye. The coble had been repaired, with two new thwarts and
several patches of some rare and beautiful foreign wood, the name
of it unknown to me.

'Why, Rorie,' said I, as we began the return voyage, 'this is fine
wood. How came you by that?'

'It will be hard to cheesel,' Rorie opined reluctantly; and just
then, dropping the oars, he made another of those dives into the
stern which I had remarked as he came across to fetch me, and,
leaning his hand on my shoulder, stared with an awful look into the
waters of the bay.

'What is wrong?' I asked, a good deal startled.

'It will be a great feesh,' said the old man, returning to his
oars; and nothing more could I get out of him, but strange glances
and an ominous nodding of the head. In spite of myself, I was