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"It was that I was coming to," said the sailor; "it would be there I fell in with your kinsman." "Ay," said I, sitting up and thinking of Mhari nic Cloidh; "is it Bryde McBride you are meaning?" "Just that," said he, looking far to sea; "a devil o' a man yon, with eyes that would drill a hole in an oak timber.
"Oh, I was looking for a sailor coming home," said she, "since yon day we went to old Mhari nic Cloidh's, and then the lassies told me Ronald's boy was home and and the night you were at Dan's they brought him here a nice quiet boy and I happened to go into the kitchen when he was there . . . and, Hamish, it is not nice to be unfriends like this, you and me, and I would not be meaning yon I said to you about old wives' havers now," and after that she came and sat beside me, and put an arm round my neck.
The grass was wet with dew when I left the sailor and made my road home, and I mind that I looked away to the suthard for a sail, and there was a queer gladness and a sorrow in me, and a grave doubt about that old woman Mhari nic Cloidh and her havers.
When I put my head into the room again, Mhari nic Cloidh was thrang at the talking in a droll sing-song voice, and this was the air of it "The word will come over the water soon it will be coming ay, soon there will be one coming from the sea."
It was after this visit to Betty that Margaret would be asking me to be taking the dogs and catching her a pair or two, maybe, of young rabbits, for they were well grown, and she took butter in the blade of a kail, and such-like truck, and went to see Mhari nic Cloidh.
And that was the great diversion for them; but when Margaret went to her this time she was thrang at the building of her stack of peat, and there was with her a younger woman, and Mhari nic Cloidh was not in good wind, for the first of her words came to us: "A traill," says she to her helper.
And they sat there with the wild-fowl only and the sheep to be seeing them. "Bryde," cried the girl, looking at her man with great starry eyes and her cheeks aglow, "Bryde, will it anger you if I will be telling something." For answer he smiled down at her. "Mhari nic Cloidh did tell me this would come, and there is more to come.
She was come of a great race this Mhari nic Cloidh, a race that has given the old names to glens and to burns, a race that led the Brandanes of the Kings; but she was old and lived alone, except maybe when the young lassies would be doing the scouring of her blankets, tramping like all that, and among the lassies was the saying that Mhari nic Cloidh had the gift.
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