"Hand me over the tobacco jar, Jessie."
Chapter XVI. Wherein I Go A-Fishing.
A few days after the sailing of the Lydia the weather broke. The
morning mist lay heavy on the islands, and the lofty Ward Hill of
Hoy hid his crown in the lowering clouds; the Bay of Stromness was
glassy calm. High above the rain goose shrieked its melancholy cry,
and the sea mews and sheldrakes, even the shear waters and bonxies,
flew landward to the shelter of the cliffs. On the upland meadows
the cows sniffed the moist air and refused to eat, and the young
lambs sought the protection of their parents' side.
My sister Jessie, with evident thought of Captain Gordon, noticed
these signs of approaching storms.
But if to her they portended ill, to me they meant good sport; for
what could be more favourable to a day's fishing than a sprinkle of
rain and a good westerly wind?
Telling my mother one Saturday morning that I would stay over
Sunday at my uncle Mansie's farm at Lyndardy, I started off with my
fishing tackle and my dog, with the intention of catching a few
trout in the stream I had so strongly recommended to the
schoolmaster.
The dog was certainly no necessary companion for a fishing
excursion; but Selta had learned to follow me on such occasions
without interfering with my sport, and I got into the way of
talking with her, and found comfort in her dumb companionship.
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