There is still some measure of justice meted out upon the earth. The face of this fiend who has been laughing at us all the morning becomes a trifle more anxious when she draws near the yacht. For there is Master Fred idling up at the bow, instead of being below looking after the vast stores he has got on board; and moreover as we draw near, and as he comes along to the gangway, any one can perceive that our good Frederick d’or is not in a facetious frame of mind. "Well, Fred, have you got a good supply at last?" she cries, taking hold of the rope, and putting her foot on the step. Fred mumbles something in reply. "What have you got?" she says, when she is on deck. "Any game?" "No, mem." "Oh, never mind; the fowls will do very well." Fred is rather silent, until he explains that he could not get any fowls. "No fowls? What butcher’s meat, then?" says she, somewhat indignantly. "None? Nothing?" says she; and a low titter begins to prevail among the assembled crowd. "Have you not got a joint of any sort?" Fred is almost unwilling to confess—he is ashamed, angry, disconcerted. At last he blurts out— "I could get nothing at all, mem, but fower loaves." At this there was a roar of laughter. What had become of all her fresh milk, and butter, and eggs; her mutton, and fowls, and cutlets; her grouse, and snipe, and hares? We did not care for our privation; we only rejoiced in her discomfiture. "That is just like a Scotch village," says she, savagely; "spending all its money on a church bell, and not able to keep a decent shop open! Do you mean to say you could not get a carrot, or a cabbage, or a pennyworth of milk?" "No, mem." "John," she says, in a domineering way, "why _don’t_ you get the sails up? What is the use of staying in a place like this?" John comes forward timidly, and stroking his great beard: he half believes in these furious rages of hers. "Oh, yes, mem, if ye please, mem, I will get the sail set—but—but the tide will be turning soon, mem, and the wind, she will be against us as soon as we get out of the loch; and it will be a long, long time before we get to Crinan. I not well aquent with this place, mem: if we were up in our own part of the Highlands, do you think the people would let the _White Dove_ be so long without the fresh cabbage and the milk? No; I not think that, mem." "But we are not in our own part of the Highlands," says she, querulously; "and do you think we are going to starve? However, I suppose Fred can give us a biscuit. Let us go below."