There are so many things which one does not quite know why one does, which afterwards prove of vast consequence, which is probably why most men who observe and think are superstitious, religious, or fatalistic. The man who can only read plain print does not believe in these things.
Jack Carstairs said nothing, but he went down to the works as usual, and they remarked there that he looked pale and had a lump on the back of his head.
"What's up?" the vociferous young English engineer asked (it is astonishing what a number of English electrical engineers there are in Scotland).
"The sky," Jack answered, laconically.
"Alright! Go to the devil!" the other man answered, and went away.
The bearded, blue-eyed Scotsman looked at him in solemn seeing silence; he said nothing, and his gaze was not obtrusive. The Scotch are a pleasant people to live with because they have grasped, above all others, the art of minding their own business, which possibly also explains why Scotsmen occupy high places all over the world.
Carstairs went back the same way that night again, but he took a handy piece of light, strong iron piping with him. He walked clear of the trees and looked carefully all around, but saw no one.
He walked on and had just reached his diggings when he heard a light step behind him; he turned and saw a tall girl quite close to him.
"Good evening, sir," she said. It was the gipsy girl.
Carstairs face brightened with pleasure and surprise. "What are you doing here?" he asked.