into his pocket, "of another good Manx saying, that 'There are just two bad pays—pay beforehand, and no pay at all;' so to save you from both, who have earned yourself neither, put you this old paper into your fob—and God bless ye."
So saying, he thrust into the lad's hand a roll of fifty Manx pound notes, and then seemed about to whip away. But Michael Sunlocks had him by the sleeve before he could turn his horse's head.
"Bless me yourself," the lad said.
And then Adam Fairbrother, with all his poor bankrupt whimseys gone from his upturned face, now streaming wet, and with his white hair gently lifted by the soft morning breeze, rose in the saddle and laid his hand on Michael's drooping head and blessed him. And so they parted, not soon to meet again, or until many a strange chance had befallen both.
It was on the morning of the day following that Michael Sunlocks rode into Port-y-Vullin. If he could have remembered how he had left it, as an infant in his father's arms, perhaps the task he had set himself would have been an easier one. He was trying to crush down his shame, and it was very hard to do. He was thinking that, go where he would, he must henceforth bear his father's name.
Stephen Orry was waiting for him, having been there three days, not living in the little hut, but washing it, cleaning it, drying it, airing it, and kindling fires in it, that by such close labour of half a week it might be worthy that his son should cross its threshold for half an hour. He had never slept in it since he had nailed up the door after the death of 'Liza Killey, and as an unblessed place it had been safe from the intrusion of others.
He saw Michael Sunlocks riding up, and raised his cap to him as he alighted, saying "Sir" to him, and bowing as he did so. There were deep scars on his face and head, his hands were scratched and discoloured, his cheeks were furrowed with wrinkles, and about his whole person there was a strong odour as of tobacco, tar, and bilge-water.
"I shall not have ought to ask you here, sir," he said, in his broken English.
"Call me Michael," the lad answered, and then they went into the hut.
The place was not much more cheerful than of old, but still dark, damp, and ruinous; and Michael Sunlocks, at the thought that he himself had been born there, and that his mother had
