"You have seen them, father?"
"Aye, boy, aye. They passed the island almost within hail of me, in a half-deck boat, which I think must have been hired at Portree."
"And was little Matty there?"
"Yes, lad, and her father and mother, and a boy older than you—though not so brave-looking."
The old hermit put his hand fondly on young Creggan's curly head as he spoke. No father could have been fonder of a son than was he of this motherless bairn.
"But, dear boy, you haven't come empty-handed, I see."
"No; I never had a better forenoon among the trout. Look!"
From under a thwart of the boat forward, Creggan lugged forth and held up for admiration, a string of crimson-spotted mountain trout that would have caused many a Cockney sportsman to bite his lips with envy.
The old man smiled, patted the boy once again, then hand in hand—such was their habit—they took their way along the winding path which led to the hut.
Oscar had been at home all day, but he now came bounding out with many a joyous bark, to welcome his master back. More quietly, too, though none the less sincerely did Gilbert, a huge, red tabby cat, bid the boy welcome, rubbing his great head against Creggan's stocking and purring loudly, while from the inner recesses of the hut a voice could be heard shouting: