The dim red light in the distant cottage went out; and presently another and stronger appeared—moving along by the side of the shore. They watched its course as it drew nearer and nearer; then in the silence of the night they could make out footsteps; finally, with a slow tramp along the wooden structure, the pier-keeper came up—and greatly surprised was he to find the two men there. "Well, it was this weh, Thomas," said Coinneach, in English, "Calum and me we were thinking it was as easy waiting here for the steamer as on board the yat, and less trouble in pulling ashore in a hurry. And the steamer, will she be late now, do you think?" "Oh, yes, indeed," said the pier-keeper, as he proceeded to sling up the big lantern he carried, "for there has been heavy weather in the south. And you might have been sleeping in your beds for some while to come." Coinneach did not like this reproach. "Then perhaps you are not knowing what it is to have a good master," said he, "or perhaps you are your own master, which is better. But listen to what I am telling you now: if my master wishes to have things put on board, or brought ashore from the steamer, then it’s me that is willing to wait up half the night, or ahl the night, to be sure to catch the steamer; for I know he will seh when I go out to the yat again, ’Coinneach, go below now, and have a sleep.’ That is when you have a good master; but if you had a bad master, would you be for walking up and down a dark pier through the night? It’s me that would see him going to the tuffle first!" "Can you give me a fill of a pipe, Coinneach?" asked the pier-keeper; and then he added, facetiously: "for they say there’s always plenty of tobacco at Eilean Heimra." "Ay, are they sehing that?" answered Coinneach, as he drew out a piece of tobacco from his waistcoat pocket. "And mebbe they’d better not be sehing that to me, or they’ll have to swallow their words—_and the bulk of my fist as well!_" The three men sate and talked together, and smoked; and as the time went by, a faint, half-bluish light began to appear over the low-lying hills in the east; the cottages across the water became visible; there were gulls flying about. The dawn broadened up and declared itself; something of a warmer hue prevailed; a solitary thin thread of smoke began to ascend from one of the chimneys. The pier-master lowered his lantern and extinguished it. And yet there was no sign of the coming steamer—no far-off hoarse signal startling the silence of the new-born day. Then, as the morning wore on, and the sleeping village awoke to life, Coinneach said:— "I think we will pull out to the yat, Calum, to see if the master will be for coming ashore; and if we should hear the steamer we can turn back." "Very well, then, Coinneach," said the younger man, "for sure I am the master will be wanting to come ashore to meet the steamer."