Every alternate fortnight the flotilla to which the "Livingstone" belonged proceeded to take its spell of arduous duty. The intervening period it spent in harbour, giving the crew a well-earned rest.
Terence joined his new ship on the second day of his return. The officers, all young men full of spirits and on excellent terms with each other, were busy planning how they were to spend the next few days of comparative leisure. As usual the subject of the war was hardly mentioned. After days of strenuous watching and waiting, with the waves constantly sweeping the battened down decks, they were only too glad to discuss matters other than "shop"—since the German fleet showed no sign of leaving its lair.
"We're off to Tuilabrail to-morrow, Aubyn," announced the engineer-lieutenant. "You'll come too, I hope. McNab has issued a general invitation to the officers of the flotilla."
"Who's Mr. McNab?" asked Terence.
"Oh, don't you know? I've forgotten it's your first time at Rosyth. McNab is the laird of Tuilabrail—quite a swagger place, not far from St. Margeret's Hope. There's plenty of sport—shooting and fishing, and all that, you know."
"'Fraid I'm not much of a hand with a sporting gun," remarked Terence. "Last time I tried I made an awful ass of myself."
"Fire away and let's have the yarn, old fellow," said a sub., as cordially as if he had known Aubyn all his life.
"There's not much to tell," replied Terence. "It was while I was staying at a farm in Devonshire. The farmer asked me to go out rabbit-shooting. It was tame work bolting the poor little beasts with ferrets and bowling them over at twenty yards. Well, we were working a hedge, set in a bank literally honeycombed with rabbit-holes. The old farmer told me where to stand and cautioned me to let rip directly I saw the rabbit, as there was plenty of cover about.
"I waited for perhaps five minutes. Then something dashed out of the hedge like greased lightning. I pulled the trigger and——"
"Peppered the farmer?" hazarded the engineer-lieutenant.