The man's head looked like a spot of ink. Sandy Liston was minding his own business, lazily mending a skait-net, which he had attached to a crazy old herring-boat hauled up to rot. Christie sat down, pale and languid, by him, on a creepie that a lass who had been baiting a line with mussels had just vacated; suddenly she seized Jean's arm with a convulsive motion; Jean looked up--it was the London steamboat running out from Leith to Granton Pier to take up her passengers for London. Charles Gatty was going by that boat; the look of mute despair the poor girl gave went to Jean's heart; she ran hastily from the group, and cried out of sight for poor Christie. A fishwife, looking through a telescope at the swimmer, remarked: “He's coming in fast; he's a gallant swimmer, yon-- “Can he dee't?” inquired Christie of Sandy Liston. “Fine thaat,” was the reply; “he does it aye o' Sundays when ye are at the kirk.” “It's no oot o' the kirk window ye'll hae seen him, Sandy, my mon,” said a young fishwife. “Rin for my glass ony way, Flucker,” said Christie, forcing herself to take some little interest. Flucker brought it to her, she put her hand on his shoulder, got slowly up, and stood on the creepie and adjusted the focus of her glass; after a short view, she said to Flucker: “Rin and see the nook.” She then leveled her glass again at the swimmer. Flucker informed her the nook said “half eleven”--Scotch for “half past ten.” Christie whipped out a well-thumbed almanac. “Yon nook's aye ahint,” said she. She swept the sea once more with her glass, then brought it together with a click, and jumped off the stool. Her quick intelligence viewed the matter differently from all the others. “Noow,” cried she, smartly, “wha'll lend me his yawl?” “Hets! dinna be sae interferin', lassie,” said a fishwife. “Hae nane o' ye ony spunk?” said Christie, taking no notice of the woman. “Speak, laddies!” “M' uncle's yawl is at the pier-head; ye'll get her, my woman,” said a boy. “A schell'n for wha's first on board,” said Christie, holding up the coin. “Come awa', Flucker, we'll hae her schell'n;” and these two worthies instantly effected a false start. “It's no under your jackets,” said Christie, as she dashed after them like the wind. “Haw! haw! haw!” laughed Sandy. “What's her business picking up a mon against his will?” said a woman. “She's an awfu' lassie,” whined another. The examination of the swimmer was then continued, and the crowd increased; some would have it he was rapidly approaching, others that he made little or no way. “Wha est?” said another. “It's a lummy,” said a girl. “Na! it's no a lummy,” said another. Christie's boat was now seen standing out from the pier. Sandy Liston, casting a contemptuous look on all the rest, lifted himself lazily into the herring-boat and looked seaward. His manner changed in a moment. “The Deevil!” cried he; “the tide's turned! You wi' your glass, could you no see yon man's drifting oot to sea?”