assure you that his nature was as sweet as summer. His methods of punishment and reward were the perfection of justice. In stature he was a small man, but his back was broad and strong, and his hands were firm and large. His long, straight hair was as black as the wing of his own jackdaw, and his cheeks, though thin, had a freshness of colour about them that was brought there by the bracing breezes of our native hills.

The class was at the Latin exercises, for Latin formed part of our education, and I could hear Jessie Grey repeating a conjugation. I saw Tom Kinlay looking absently towards the window where I stood, and fearing that he would notice me, I moved a step nearer the door. Then I heard Mr. Drever speak.

"Kinlay," said he, "finish the subjunctive mood, where Jessie Grey left off."

Tom's trembling voice betrayed his ignorance of the-lesson.

"Regor, I am ruled; regeris, thou--"

"No, no," interrupted the master. "What are you thinking of, boy? That's the indicative mood. I asked for the subjunctive. Take your hands out of your pockets, sir, and don't stand there glowering at the whaling ships. They'll not be away till afternoon. Now, the subjunctive mood?"

"I can't say it, sir. I could not get it into my head," whined Tom.

"Can't! do you say? Can't! Was there ever such a word?--Here, you, Halcro Ericson, finish the--Now, where's that lad? Has he not come to the school yet?"

"No, sir," replied two or three voices.

Now that the schoolmaster's attention had been so drawn to my absence, I felt more than ever reluctant to enter.

"Where is he? Does anyone know?" asked Mr. Drever.

"Dinna ken, sir," was the weak response.

Then Tom Kinlay, anxious, I suppose, to retrieve his lost ground, droned out: "He's away down at the shore side, sir. I saw him fishing."

"Ah! s-sneak!" hissed one of the boys near him; "what for need you tell?"

"Now, now!" said the master quietly. "None of that. Get along with the lesson."

He glanced along the row of faces before him.

"Thora Kinlay," he said, "finish the conjugation where Jessie Grey left off."

I was again at the window.

Mr. Drever looked towards a fair-haired, blue-eyed girl who stood directly opposite to him. At her throat there was a cowslip--a rare flower in Orkney. She wore a rough, homespun frock, as all the other girls did; but, for some reason which I cannot explain, Thora Kinlay was quite unlike her companions. Such was the refined gentleness of her nature that I can compare her only with the tern--the most beautiful, I believe, of all our sea birds.

"Regerer, I might be ruled; regereris, thou mightst be ruled," she began, and as she repeated the conjugation, I listened with attention not unmixed with envy, for she was the best scholar in the whole school.

As Thora concluded, the schoolmaster gave her a word of praise, and told her to go to the top of the class, while her brother, Tom, was ordered to the bottom.

Andrew Drever had given these directions, and was leaning with his elbow on the desk, his chin resting on his hand, when his eye was attracted by my moving shadow at the doorway; and amid a sudden silence I entered and took my place at the bottom of the class.

"Good morning, sir!" I said, looking fearlessly into Mr. Drever's kind face.

"Good morning, Ericson!" said he. "You take your proper place, I notice. But what is the meaning of this lateness? What excuse have you this time?"

"I was down at the shore side catching sillocks," I boldly answered, "and I just stopped to make up the even number."

Robbie Rosson here put his hand to his mouth in the form of a speaking trumpet, and whispered: "How many did you catch, Hal?"

"Just two dozen," I quietly replied, yet not so quietly but Mr. Drever heard me.

"Yes, Ericson," said he sternly, "you stay to make up the number of your fish. But why do you not remember that you have a duty in making up the number of your class at school?"

"I'm very sorry, sir," I said; "but I'll not do it again."

"See that you do not. I will excuse you this time, but only because you were at the fishing." Then he added more kindly, "I have myself lost count of time in the same way. And now let me hear your Latin lesson."

Fortunately I went through the lesson without mistake, and was rewarded by being told to go above Tom Kinlay. As I took my place, however, the next boy to me, Robbie Rosson, gave a great shout of pain, as though a pin had been stuck into him.

"Hello, hello! What's wrong now?" exclaimed the schoolmaster.

"It's nothing, sir," said Robbie, looking extremely uncomfortable.

"Nothing! What for did you cry out like that, then?"

"'Twas one of my fishhooks stuck in his leg, sir," I explained, extracting the offending hook from Rosson's trousers, and putting it back with others into my pocket.

"Give me the hooks!" demanded Mr. Drever, holding out his hand to receive them. "I don't know what can possess you, bringing such things to school."

Then before putting the hooks away in his desk, he examined them with a knowing eye, and I heard him murmur, "Dear me, dear me! You lads beat everything. I cannot think where ye get such good hooks from."

The lesson was now changed. We all took our seats at the desks for arithmetic, and throughout the morning there were few interruptions further than the necessary disturbance caused by the changing of places as one or another of us was distinguished for reward.

Chapter III. A Half Holiday.

You will have gathered from Andrew Drever's remark about the fishhooks that he was something of a fisher. He was a fisher; but he was also a naturalist, and he varied the hard duties of the school by making frequent excursions across the hills in search of objects for his favourite study. In addition to the maps and diagrams that hung on the whitewashed walls of the schoolroom there were many cases containing stuffed birds, such as guillemots, terns, owls, and ouzels; and specimens of the small quadrupeds of the locality, including a weasel and a fine pair of otters. All of these specimens had been prepared and stuffed by himself, and upon a side table by the window he kept a collection of curious stones and old coins that he had found on his wanderings.

Andrew's heart was in both of his occupations. He loved his birds and his curiosities, and I think he loved his pupils. Often, as he sat on his high stool behind his desk, with a severity in his features which his position seemed to demand, I have seen his brown eyes soften as they looked round the circle of faces, and I have known that he had some affection for each one of us. Out of school hours he took great interest in our pursuits, giving to the girls advice in the arrangement of colour in their needlework, and to the boys many a valuable hint for the hooking of trout. He knew no distinctions of rank or social position. A laird's son was treated by him with the same dignity or kindness that was shown to the son of a poor kelp burner; and the coveted seat at the head of the class was as often occupied by a poor fisherman's lad as by the better dressed, but not better educated, son of the Inspector of Fisheries, or the bright little daughter of so great a man as Lloyd's agent.

Towards the close of morning school, Peter, the jackdaw, announced by the fluttering of his wings and his chattering that a stranger was coming to the door, and very soon Mr. Duke, one of the bailies of the town, entered the school. We had learnt to expect something good to come of the bailie's visits, and this occasion was no exception.

He sat down on one of the low forms near Mr. Drever's desk, and took from his waistcoat pocket a large silver snuffbox.

"Well, Andrew," he cheerily exclaimed, taking a copious pinch between his finger and thumb and handing the box to the master, "here's a glorious morning for you, eh? Ay, man, and how are all your