There are no such sunsets anywhere in Britain as there are in Skye. This evening the sun went down in a glory of crimson, gray, and orange, which it is impossible to describe.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Matty could not have been more rejoiced to see Creggan had he been away for a year.
"Oh, I is glad you've comed!" she cried, jumping on his knee with childish abandon.
Then in the starlight, Creggan launched his skiff and rowed swiftly away across a heaving waveless sea, to where the beacon burned afar on his own little island home of Kilmara.
CHAPTER VII.
LOST IN A HIGHLAND MIST.
Soon now the scene must change, and we shall find ourselves afloat on the dark blue sea, and taking part in adventures far more thrilling than any that could possibly be met with even in the wild Island of Wings itself. I have said that, when not fishing or boating with Matty, Creggan used to be guide to Mr. Nugent and show him all the sights. In these devious wanderings both rode, when the ground permitted it, Nugent on a pretty bay mare, Creggan on a daft little Shetland pony, who sometimes pitched him off and then rolled on him. Only play certainly, but play may be a trifle rough at times.
For example, I was walking—in full uniform—one day in a lonely part of the city of Zanzibar. Well, just as I entered one end of a rather narrow lane a camel entered the other. There wasn't a soul in the street but our two selves.
"There is plenty of room to pass," I said to myself. So on I went, and on came the camel, with his head half a mile in the air (more or less). When we met about the centre, instead of nodding to me in a friendly way and saying "Yambo sana" (good luck to you), he snuffed the air, grinned, uttered a little scream and made straight for me. I thought my hour had come. He didn't bite, however—he did worse. He crunched me against the wall and turned me right round. Oh, how I ached! For the next hour or two I felt as flat as a pancake. I have never trusted camel or dromedary since.