"Oh, tell us a stoly!" cried bonnie Matty, clapping her tiny hands.
"I have never told my story to anyone hereabouts yet," said the hermit; "not even to my sonny, Creggan Ogg. But," he added, "when ladies ask, what can I do but obey."
"Well, light your pipe."
"May I?"
"Certainly."
The hermit smoked for a minute or two, looking into the fire, as if to renovate his memories of the past.
Then he began.
CHAPTER IV.
STORY OF THE SKYE CLEARINGS.
"I must be brief, madam," the hermit began, as he glanced at a little "wag-at-the-wa'",[[1]] "for night comes on apace."