Rob's face was aglow with pride.
'I think she's like a race-horse!' he said. 'I think she would lick any boat in Erisaig Bay.'
'But it is not to run races I have handed her over to ye. You must be careful, Rob; and run back if there's any squally weather about. I'll no be vexed if you're over cautious. For ye know if anything was to happen to one of they lads, the people would say I had done wrong in lippening[2] a boat to such a young crew.'
'Well, sir,' said Rob, boldly, 'ye have seen them work the boat. Do they look like lads who do not know what sailing a boat is?'
Mr. Bailie laughed, and said no more.
Then came the afternoon on which they were to set out for the first time after the herring. All Erisaig came out to see; and Rob was a proud lad as he stepped on board (with the lazy indifference of the trained fisherman very well imitated) and took his seat as stroke oar. The afternoon was lovely; there was not a breath of wind; the setting sun shone over the bay; and the Mary of Argyle went away across the shining waters with the long white oars dipping with the precision of clock-work. It was not until they were at the mouth of the harbour that something occurred which seemed likely to turn this brave setting-out into ridicule.
This was Daft Sandy, who rowed his punt right across the path of the Mary of Argyle, and, as she came up, called to Rob.
'What is it ye want?' Rob called to him.
'I want to come on board, Rob,' the old man said, as he now rowed his punt up to the stern of the skiff.
'I have no tobacco, and I have no whisky,' Rob said, impatiently. 'There'll be no tobacco or whisky on board this boat so long as I have anything to do with her; so ye needna come for that, Sandy.'