His adventures with the child were principally among the heather or at sea in the skiff. He was so strong a boy, and so tall and brave that neither Nugent himself nor his wife were afraid to trust him with the child. So, on fine days he used to row her right away out to the hermit's isle itself, and spend hours listening to the old man's yarns, but above all to his music.
Well, the two would sink baited lobster-traps in the deep water near the towering cliffs, on which stood the grand old castle of Duntulm. They used to go for those lobster creels next day, and always found plenty of shell-fish.
Or they would fish from the boat lent them by a fisherman, the saith leaping at times around them as thick as rain-drops in a thunderstorm.
But it was even more pleasant to sit on the rocks, and fish with a white fly for mullet or herring. The idea of angling for herring may seem a droll one to a South Briton, but it is done nevertheless, and many is the good haul I have made myself.
From the place where the children used to fish, to Nugent's little home was a good three miles' walk. They had to pass over a chain of boulders, where wild cats dwelt. One evening they had stayed longer fishing than usual, and it was quite gloaming ere they reached the stony chaos.
Matty was trembling with fear, so Creggan threw his plaid around her, placing her on his right hand, because that was nearest to the sea, and not to that cleft and precipitous mountain face where the danger lay. Matty crept as close to the boy as she could.
Now, Creggan usually carried a stout stick with a pointed iron-shod end. It was well, indeed, that he had it to-night. For they had hardly got half-way through the chaotic mass of boulders, when the boy saw something dark in the road ahead that made his heart beat quicker for Matty's sake.
The something dark sprang off the road as Creggan and Matty slowly advanced. Indeed the child had not seen it, for she had quite buried her head and face in the plaid. The boy was beginning to think that the danger was over, but he grasped his cudgel nevertheless. Lucky for him he did so, for they had advanced but fifty yards farther, when with an unearthly and eldritch yell that dark something sprang at Creggan's neck.
It was doubtless the scent of the fish that had excited the monster. But the lad's stout plaid saved him. Matty had disengaged herself and stood trembling by the roadside, while Creggan fought this miniature tiger.
Again and again it charged, its eyes gleaming like yellow diamonds. Again and again the lad drove it off.