This whale was a Godsend to the poor fisher folks. One way or another, what with its whalebone, its oil, and its great jaws, it had been sold piecemeal. But there still remained leaning against the cliff the huge ribs of the leviathan, and here the children used to play till one day it occurred to Bunko to make these ribs the framework of a good house.
Eean, the bard, took up the idea at once, and what with the help of an idle hand or two, always easily to be had in a village, the ribs were roofed and covered in all round, and when a floor and door had been put in, not to mention a fire-place and a little window, why surely never on earth was there a better or more romantic children's play-house.
The bottom of the glen or gap in this wall of rocks was grass, so Bunko's "mother-wit" came in handy once again.
"What for no' have a bit garden round the house?" Bunko had said.
"Certainly," said Eean; "but the soil isn't deep."
"Bide a wee, sir."
And, spade in hand, up he clambered to the cliff top. It was well for the old fisherman that he had divined Bunko's intentions and stood clear from under, for presently the earth began to descend in avalanches. Bunko in his excitement had evidently quite forgotten that anyone stood beneath. In less than a quarter of an hour a heap of mould big enough for the purpose lay alongside the igloo.
Meanwhile Eean had wandered round the corner, deeply absorbed in the beauties of Ossian. When he returned, much to his astonishment he found that poor Bunko had descended, and was digging into that heap of earth with his coat off as if his future life depended on it. Eean walked quietly up behind him, for Bunko was talking aloud, a word or two to each spadeful that he threw aside.
It is said listeners never hear any good of themselves. This case, however was an exception.
"O, poor Eean—O, poor dear old man—the best—and the wisest—and the bonniest—auld man—'tween here and Perth—and I've—buried him alive."