"Rob, my man, what think you of the air-bubbles now? Maybe Daft Sandy is not so daft after all. And do you think I would go and tell any one but yourself, Rob?"
Rob could not speak; he was breathless. Nor was their work nearly done when they had got in the net, with all its splendid silver treasure. For as there was not a breath of wind, they had to set to work to pull the heavy boat back to Erisaig. The gray dawn gave way to a glowing sunrise; and when they at length reached the quay, tired out with work and want of sleep, the people were all about.
Mr. Bailie came along and shook hands with Rob, and congratulated him; for it turned out that, while not another Erisaig boat had that night got more than from two to three crans, the Mary Of Argyle had ten crans—as good herring as ever were got out of Loch Scrone.
Well, the MacNicol lads were now in a fair way of earning an independent and honorable living. And the last that the present writer heard of them was this: that they had bought outright the Mary of Argyle and her nets, from the banker; and that they were building for themselves a small stone cottage on the slope of the hill above Erisaig; and that Daft Sandy was to become a sort of major-domo,—cook, gardener, and mender of nets.
DEFINITIONS:—Details, particulars. Lythe, saithe, cuddies, kinds of fish. Thole pins, pins to keep the oars in place. Trawl, to fish with a net. Vertical, upright. Dint, means. Interest, attention. Prevailed, existed. Seething, a stir, a boiling. Told, had a great effect. Thwarts, benches. Crans, barrels. Daft, weak- minded. Major-domo, steward.
THE BLUE AND THE GRAY.
BY ELLEN H. FLAGG.
Two soldiers, lying where they fell
Upon the reddened clay,—
In daytime foes; at night, in peace,
Breathing their lives away.
Brave hearts had stirred each manly breast;
Fate only made them foes;
And lying, dying, side by side,
A softened feeling rose.
"Our time is short," one faint voice said:
"To-day we've done our best
On different sides. What matters now?
To-morrow we're at rest.
Life lies behind. I might not care
For only my own sake;
But far away are other hearts
That this day's work will break.
"Among New Hampshire's snowy hills
There pray for me to-night
A woman, and a little girl
With hair like golden light."
And at the thought broke forth, at last,
The cry of anguish wild,
That would no longer be repressed,—
"O God! my wife and child!"