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Because of Barrie's love for the Bruce, we got out and walked to the Bore Stone where he stood to direct the battle so fatal to the English. After this we were close to St. Ninian's, and to Stirling, though the day was still young; but there was lots to see, and I wanted to go on before dusk, to spend the night in Crieff.
They left the pier and passed through the station into the street. "Holyhead," said Gilbert, "is a good place to get drunk in! We won't linger!..." They took the lower road to Tre'Arrdur Bay because it was quieter than the upper road, and as they walked, Henry read Ninian's letter. "He seems to like South America," he said, returning the letter to Gilbert when he had finished with it.
I carry it about with me, Quinny, so that I can read it to Ninian whenever his spirits are low!" "I never saw such a chap!" Ninian mumbled. "This great, hairy, beefy fellow," Gilbert went on, seizing hold of Ninian's arm with his disengaged hand, "does not love literature!..." Ninian broke free from Gilbert's grip. "Marley is on the beach," he said, and ran ahead to engage the boat.
Ninian caught hold of her hair and pulled it. "He isn't a bad chap, old Quinny," he said. "Soft-hearted, a bit!" "Shut up, Ninian!" Henry shouted, punching him in the ribs. But Ninian would not shut up. "Blubs like anything if you kill a rabbit or anything. He eats them all the same!" Mary put her hands over Ninian's mouth. "Leave Quinny alone, Ninian," she said.
"Not come in yet. How'd the rehearsals go to-day?" Roger answered. "Better than any other day. They're beginning to feel their parts. It's about time, too. I felt sick with fright yesterday, they were so wooden. Mundane might have been the village idiot, instead of the fine actor he is ... but they're better now. Ninian's late!" "Is he? He'll be here presently.
Roger and Rachel had settled in their house in Hampstead soon after Gilbert and Henry had taken the furnished flat, and after a while, some of the old routine of their lives, except that part of it represented by Ninian, went on as before. Most of Ninian's leave was spent in quelling his mother's alarms about his journey to South America. "It's a splendid chance for me, mother!" he insisted.
Ninian's two hours before sunset. Have ready a fishing coracle with some fish, and dress you as a fisher maid. These are my orders. Go." At sunset that evening a little boat, paddled by a stalwart young man in the rough habit of a fisher, was crossing the waters of Loch Fyne.
"I shall tell what I know and then leave your house anyway," said Lulu, "unless you get Ninian's word. And I want you should write him now." "Leave your mother? And Ina?" he asked. "Leave everything," said Lulu. "Oh, Dwight," said Ina, "we can't get along without Lulu." She did not say in what particulars, but Dwight knew.
He swept Ninian's photograph from the marble shelf of the mirror, and when Lulu had placed the lamp there, Dwight thrust the photograph into her hands. "You take care of that," he said, with a droop of lid discernible only to those who presumably loved him. His old attitude toward Lulu had shown a terrible sharpening in these ten days since her return.
Allan was then out in the fields, but he was soon found, and the two lads, armed with bows and dirks, went together down to the bay of St. Ninian's. Four fishermen there launched a boat for them, and rowing out under the little island of Inch Marnock, they then hoisted sail and sped across the Sound of Bute with a fresh western wind.
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