Then he tried to go off hastily that he might hide the emotion that came over him like a flood that had broken its dam. But Pete gripped him by the shoulder, and peered into his face in the dark. “You will, though,” said Pete, with a little shout of joy; “then it's as good as done; God bless you, old fellow.” Philip began to roll about. “Tut, it's nothing,” he said, with a stout heart, and then he laughed a laugh with a cry in it. He could have said no more without breaking down; but just then a flash of light fell on them from the house, and a hushed voice cried, “Pete!” “It's herself,” whispered Pete. “She's coming! She's here!” Philip turned, and saw Kate in the doorway of the dairy, the sweet young figure framed like a silhouette by the light behind. “I'm going!” said Philip, and he edged up to the house as the girl stepped out. Pete followed him a step or two in approaching Kate. “Whist, man!” he whispered. “Tell the old geezer I'll be going to chapel reglar early tides and late shifts, and Sunday-school constant. And, whist! tell him I'm larning myself to play on the harmonia.” Then Philip slithered softly through the dairy door, and shut it after him, leaving Kate and Pete together. VII. The kitchen of “The Manx Fairy” was now savoury with the odour of herrings roasting in their own brine, and musical with the crackling and frizzling of the oil as it dropped into the fire. “It's a long way back to Ballure, Mrs. Cregeen,” said Philip, popping his head in at the door jamb. “May I stay to a bite of supper?” “Aw, stay and welcome,” said Cæsar, putting down the big book, and Nancy Joe said the same, dropping her high-pitched voice perceptibly, and Grannie said, also, “Right welcome, sir, if you'll not be thinking mane to take pot luck with us. Potatoes and herrings, Mr. Christian; just a Manxman's supper. Lift the pot off the slowrie, Nancy.” “Well, and isn't he a Manxman himself, mother?” said Cæsar. “Of course I am, Mr. Cregeen,” said Philip, laughing noisily. “If I'm not, who should be, eh?'” “And Manxman or no Manxman, what for should he turn up his nose at herrings same as these?” said Nancy Joe. She was dishing up a bowlful. “Where'll he get the like of them? Not in England over, I'll go bail.” “Indeed, no, Nancy,” said Philip, still laughing needlessly. “And if they had them there, the poor, useless creatures would be lost to cook them.” “'Deed, would they, Nancy,” said Grannie. She was rolling the potatoes into a heap on to the bare table. “And we've much to be thankful for, with potatoes and herrings three times a day; but we shouldn't be thinking proud of our-selves for that.” “Ask the gentleman to draw up, mother,” said Cæsar. “Draw up, sir, draw up. Here's your bowl of butter-milk. A knife and fork, Nancy. We're no people for knife and fork to a herring, sir. And a plate for Mr. Christian, woman; a gentleman usually likes a plate. Now ate, sir, ate and welcome--but where's your friend, though?”