The afternoon's outing for which they were indebted to young Creggan Ogg M'Vayne had been pronounced delightful beyond compare. It was indeed a strange land they had reached at last, pastoral and poetic as well. Bonnie green valleys, watered by many a rippling burn, and little waterfalls that came trickling down from the rocks, and studded over with lazy, well-fed cattle and a few sheep. There were but two huts here, near-by the banks of a little stream, that went singing onwards till its brown waters were swallowed up in a small lake, the surface of which was everywhere wrinkled by sportive trout, leaping high to catch gnats or midges even in the air.
The Nugents were surprised, but charmed to find that the tiny encampment was inhabited only by sturdy bare-footed, bare-headed lassies, who were here to tend the cows, and to make butter and cheese, which would afterwards be sold at the distant market town of Portree.
Creggan had to be interpreter, for never a word of English had these girls to bless themselves in.
And Mrs. Nugent stayed long enough to make several delightful sketches in water-colours, over which the lassies went into raptures. The clouds in the blue sky, the distant peeps of ocean, with here and there a little sail, the darkling rocks, the mountain peaks, and nearer still in the foreground, the foaming linns, the green braes, and the beautiful cows, with their attendants, all came out on the paper by the magic touch of the artist's brush.
Long before they had once more reached the cliffs by the sea that night, Matty and Creggan seemed to have established a friendship as frank and free as if they had known each other for many and many a year. Then good-byes had been said, and the promise given by Mr. Nugent to come out to the island some afternoon, or to take it in their way home from the far-off island of Harris. But a fortnight passed by and they had not yet appeared. Nor, although he thought about them, and especially about Matty, times without number, had Creggan seen them even at a distance.
One afternoon, the boy in his skiff returned home much sooner than usual.
It is not in winter only that wild storms sweep up or down or across the Minch, for even in summer, and suddenly too, gales arise, and while, as far as eye can see, the Atlantic is one wide chaos of broken and foaming water, the cliffs and hills seem shaken to their rude foundations by wind and wave. Yet speedily as such tempests come, there are generally indications beforehand that tell the fishermen abroad in their open boats that they must run quickly for the nearest shelter, if dear life itself is to be saved.
"Right glad to see you, lad," said the hermit, as he helped Creggan to secure his boat high and dry behind a rock, where, blow as it might, nothing could damage her.
"You think it is going to blow, Daddy?"
"Aye, sonny, that it is. Night will come on, too, long hours before its time. Ah, boy, we'll have to pray for those at sea to-night! I hope your friends will not think of leaving Lewis."