"I ken ye; I will be hearing your whispering," and it seemed to me as if he were a cunning old warrior in the midst of well-tried foes, wary and courageous, and always winning through. But in the middle of the bay the waves rose madly round us, the stout skiff was tossed like a cork, now perched giddily on the crest, and now racing madly to the trough, and then to the crest again with a horrible side motion (which I think seamen call yawing), most fearful of all. But McKelvie spoke to his boat as I have heard horsemen speak to their horses.
When a squall struck us and the skiff lay down to it, he would croon softly—
"You will not be killing yourself, lass—easy, easy,—oh, but you are eager for the sea," and I knew that I was watching a master hand, a man cunning in the moods of the sea; but as I sat he bade me bale the water out of the boat, for it was slushing about high over the floor-boards, and these had come adrift, and were moving with every motion, so I baled with a will, glad for something mechanical to do, to keep my eyes off the menacing waves which seemed to rush up to devour us, and as if we were too poor a prey, spurned us away. Then I saw that we were in calmer water, and the steep shore of the Isle seemed close to, and the light of the white house clear, and in a little time the sail came rattling down, and the skiff's keel grated on the flat gravel, and we sprang ashore and put the anchor on the beach though the tide was going back.
And as we made our way over the gravelly shore I saw a crouching figure rise from among the wrack and come to us.
"Oh, oh; have ye come for me, father? Have ye come for me at last?" and a girl flung herself into McKelvie's arms, and hung there crying.
"Wheest, lass, wheest," commanded the innkeeper sternly.
"Oh, I just crept as near the sea as I could go, for oh, yon hoose is no' canny, and a' day the ravens from the Red Rocks have walked in at the doors, fluttering and croaking, and the Red Man is crying that he's gaun tae his hame the night; and McRae piping to him a' day, and him drinking and blaspheming. . . ."
"If McDearg's gaun the night, we'll maybe hae news tae stop him, my dear," said Dan. "Anywie, ye're surely no' feart of a raven's croaking?"
With that we started for the Isle House, the whitewash of it looking yellowish against the snow, and all about us the flapping of wings and the crying of sea-birds as our feet scrunched on the gravel.
"I canna go there," cried the lass. "I just canna; let me bide in the boat," and then, as she saw her brother take the lantern from the bows, she ran to him.