What had brought her under the lee of Ransay I could but guess; some engine trouble and that gale on top of it most probably, but there she was, and there were the islanders standing at each door gazing at her. I gazed too for a while and then came back to our early dinner. Going out again in the afternoon, the affable Mr. Hobhouse was passing the time of day with a couple of petty officers within five minutes, and as he continued his walk he saw that, whatever was the reason, H.M.S. _Uruguay_ was not going to leave immediately. The wind had now fallen to a stiff breeze, and as she lay under the shelter of the island, shore leave had evidently been given to a number of the men. First at one farm and then at another he could spy parties of blue jackets buying butter and eggs, poultry and cheeses, everything fresh from the land they could get. It was cheerful to see them again, and yet one uncomfortable thought did cross my mind as I looked at their great grey ship anchored there. "What a sitting target for a submarine!" I said to myself. "Pray Heaven no submarine turns up here to-day!" I had gone out to the bare northern headland and was heading home again for tea when I happened to see on the road a small knot of these blue jackets, just parting from a couple of countrymen. This pair turned towards me and in a moment I recognised my acquaintances Peter Scollay junior and Jock. Mr. Hobhouse had visited their house several times by now and was on the most friendly terms with the family. "Good-day, Peter!" he cried as he passed them. "Have you been taking your brother to look at the ship?" For some reason Peter stared at him in an odd way, and Jock burst into one of his loudest laughs. Peter seemed to mumble something which Mr. Hobhouse failed to catch, and then when they had passed, he could see him laughing too. To be laughed at without knowing the reason why is always irritating, even to one of Mr. Hobhouse's exceptionally amiable temperament, and it had the effect of suddenly sharpening his critical faculties. A thing struck him that had never happened to strike him before. What was that great strapping Scollay fellow doing at home on a small croft where he was quite superfluous, when his country needed every man? And why did the lout stare and then laugh? Considering what a vigilant eye was watching him behind Mr. Hobhouse's glasses, it seemed to me unwise as well as rude.