'Let's go down to the shore,' said Allan. 'Can't talk here.'
A window was thrown open on the upper story of the house, and a little voice cried, 'Wait a minute, people! don't go away! I'm coming too.'
'Tricksy awake already!' said Marjorie; 'that child will make herself ill.'
In a few minutes a little figure emerged from the front door, and Tricksy ran towards them.
'What are you going to do?' she said. 'Is there any news?'
'Nothing at all, Tricksy,' said Marjorie; 'we were only going down to the shore to talk.'
The little girl slipped her hand confidingly into Allan's and walked beside him, trying to accommodate her steps to his long stride.
'Hullo, there's Euan Macdonnell,' said Allan. 'He was at the trial yesterday; let's ask him about it.'
The fine frank-faced young coastguard touched his cap to the girls and waited to be spoken to.
'Euan,' said Allan abruptly; speaking in Gaelic, which was always most convenient for the islanders if a conversation was likely to be long; 'we know about Neil. You were there; tell us about the trial.'