eyes of a cormorant. The pretty girls stopped their chatter to look after him, but he strode on with long steps, and the people fell aside for him.
At the door of the Saddle Inn he stood a moment, but voices came from within and he passed on. Going by the Court House he came to the Plough Tavern, and there he stopped again, and then stepped in. After a time the children who had followed at his heels separated, and the girls who had looked after him began to dance with arms akimbo and skirts held up over their white ankles. He was forgotten.
An hour later, four men, armed with cutlasses, and carrying ship's irons, came hurrying from the harbour. They were blue-jackets in pursuit of a seaman who had deserted from the English brig at anchor in the bay. The runaway was a giant and a foreigner, and could not speak a word of English or Manx. Had any one seen him? Yes, every one. He had gone into the Plough. To the Plough the blue-jackets made their way. The good woman who kept it, Mother Beatty, had certainly seen such a man. "Aw, yes, the poor craythur, he came, so he did," but never a word could he speak to her, and never a word could she speak to him, so she gave him a bit of barley-cake, and maybe a drop of something, and that was all. He was not in the house then? "Och, let them look for themselves." The blue-jackets searched the house, and came out as they had entered. Then they passed through every street, looked down every alley, peered into every archway, and went back to their ship empty-handed.
When they were gone Mother Beatty came to the door and looked out. At the next instant the big-limbed stranger stepped from behind her.
"That way," she whispered, and pointed to a dark alley opposite.
The man watched the direction of her finger in the darkness, doffed his cap, and strode away.
The alley led him by many a turn to the foot of a hill. It was Ballure. Behind him lay the town, with the throngs, the voices, and the bands of music. To his left was the fort, belching smoke and the roar of cannon. To his right were the bonfires on the hill-top, with little dark figures passing before them, and a glow above them embracing a third of the sky. In front of him was the gloom and silence of the country. He walked on; a fresh coolness came to him out
