“Oh, no,” said Sheila. “You must work very hard, and I will see whether you remember all that I taught you in the Lewis. And if we can have some long lines we might get some fish. Will they pay more than thirty shillings for their long lines in this country?” “I don’t know,” said Ingram. “I believe most of the fishermen here live upon the shillings they get from the passers-by after a little conversation about the weather and their hard lot in life; so that one doesn’t talk to them more than one can help.” “But why do they need the money? Are there no fish?” “I don’t know that, either. I suppose there is some good fishing in the Winter, and sometimes in the Summer they get some big shoals of mackerel.” “It was a letter I had last week from the sister of one of the men of the Nighean-dubh, and she will tell me that they have been very lucky all through the last season, and it was near six thousand ling they got.” “But I suppose they are in debt to some curer up about Habost?” “Oh, no; not at all. It is their own boat; it is not hired to them. And it is a very good boat whatever.” That unlucky “whatever” had slipped out inadvertently: the moment she had uttered it she blushed and looked timidly toward her companion, fearing that he had noticed it. He had not. How could she have made such a blunder? she asked herself. She had been most particular about the avoidance of the word, even in the Lewis. The girl did not know that from the moment she had left the steps of the Old Ship in company with that good friend of hers she had unconsciously fallen into much of her old pronunciation and her old habit of speech; while Ingram, much more familiar with the Sheila of Borvapost and Loch Roag than with the Sheila of Notting Hill and Kensington Gardens did not perceive the difference, but was mightily pleased to hear her talk in any fashion whatsoever. By fair means or foul, Ingram managed to secure a pretty little sailing vessel which lay at anchor out near the New Pier, and when the pecuniary negotiations were over, Sheila was invited to walk down over the loose stones of the beach and take command of the craft. The boatman was still very doubtful. When he had pulled them out to the boat, however, and put them on board, he speedily perceived that his handsome young lady not only knew everything that had to be done in the way of getting the small vessel ready, but had a very smart and business-like way of doing it. It was very obvious that her companion did not know half as much about the matter as she did; but he was obedient and watchful, and presently they were ready to start. The man put off in his boat to shore again, much relieved in mind, but not a little puzzled to understand where the young lady had picked up not merely her knowledge of boats, but the ready way in which she put her delicate hands to hard work, and the prompt and effectual fashion in which she accomplished it.