CHAPTER XXIX.
"GREAT IS THE TROUBLE OF FOOT ILL-TRIPPING."
Our boys woke up early next morning, for a chill wind sweeping over Swarta Stack was as effectual a rouser as the dressing-bell.
When fully awake they looked (as if led by one instinct) to the open sea, for from thence was coming the deep mournful moaning which precedes a storm.
"Mither," said Gloy, "wad say that the sea was sending its warning tae wiz."
"We will certainly pay heed to that warning," answered Yaspard, "as soon as we have had breakfast. Let's look alive, boys, and get our fire up as fast as we can, for there's going to be a gale before night, and we should be at Broch then."
"The Osprey won't take long to run into Burra Wick," said Tom; "and we must make a jolly good breakfast here before returning to civilised life."
"There will be time to inspect the Stack, I hope," Harry remarked. "We must have a full report of this isle that has a bad name, according to Gloy."
They lit their fire, and boiled the last of their potatoes, brewed the last of their tea, and finished the biscuits and ham.
"Not much to carry back," one said, and another added, "I shouldn't like to be left on a skerry now that the ferdimet is all but done."