taking his eyes from the mug. He seemed lost in a reverie, and the islanders waited politely till he chose to awake from it. Presently he looked up with the air of a person who had been far away or asleep, and said:

"I am remarking to myself how well this is carved. Your carver must make his fortune if he go out into the world."

Delsie's laugh rang out gaily. She was fond of the old mug and loved to hear it praised. Graunia held her head higher and higher. Maillie chuckled with merriment.

"I'm the only carver on the island mysel'," he said; "an''twould be hard to tell where the man is now that done yon piece o' work. It came a say voyage, and from as outlandish a part o' the world as ye come from yersel'; Delsie's grandfather, if he wasn't dead, could tell you more about it nor I can do.”

"There is a story," said the Dutch trader, raising his eyebrows. "Tell it to me, good Jan-I am fond of stories, and you have already promised me some.'

"It's soon tould," said Johnny. "Wan terrible winther long ago, there was a vessel wrecked over agin' the rocks at the West Quarther, and Delsie's gran'father here, he was out among the rest thryin' to save the poor cratures that was a drownin'. You niver seen the rocks we have over on the aff side o' the island? Lord save ye! sich rocks! Why there was a man-o'-war washed clane into a cut betune a pair o' them cliffs that was the most beautiful fit for it iver ye seen. There it stuck till the waves rotted it away, an' it came out in pieces, glory be to God! The 'Royal Oak' the vessel was called, an' the Royal Oak Cove' is there till eternity for you or you

else to look at.

"It wasn't just there, but a bit further round, that Billy Prendergast fished his man out o' the say. A fine swim he had for him, an' a terrible fight for his own life afore he hooked him in; but he done it for all that, an' brought him home, as plased like over the dhrowned man as if it was a new born babe in the cradle. The sthranger recovered an' was nursed by Billy's family, and was dark and silent like; but he seemed grateful an' fond o' Billy. I declare an' they do say he was a Dutchman like yoursel'; but he niver gave any name in particular, or if he did it was onchristianlike, an' the people didn't catch at it. To make a long story short, when the sthranger went away from Bofin, he sent a present to Billy of that ould wooden mether that ye hould in your hand. Neighbours jeered a little at Billy on the count of it, for the ould man was fond o' a sup, when he was young; an' some said a usefuller present would ha' been more in a poor body' way; but howsomdever people that know about sich things say the carvin' an' figurin' is beautiful and valyable, an' whatever way it was, Delsie's father was as proud o' the mug as if it had been an estate. 'Niver you fear, Johnny,' says he to mysel', 'but there's somethin' past the common in that ould mether or it wouldn't ha' been sent. There'll be luck in the family as long as it's presarved, biggest nail in the house, an' in the middle o' the longest wall.' That's what he said, an' though we can't boast much

an' hung on the

of his luck, poor man !-still, God knows, everybody in Bofin has a kind o' respect for the mug; an' Delsie's mighty careful o' it, bein' all she has for her fortin', poor colleen!"

Jan Dow had listened with interest from the beginning of Maillie's recital, staring hard at the story-teller, and changing countenance many times. When the tale was finished, he sat lost in thought; then emptying the beaker he changed it from hand to hand as if considering its weight.

"'Twas an oddish sort o' a present to send a poor man, wasn't it?" said Maillie, as the Dutchman's eyes fixed themselves on his with a curious expression.

"A very strange present, indeed," said the foreigner; "but it is well carved and very pretty."

"Ye needn't be makin' little o' it," said Graunia, tossing her head: “quare or not quare, it's the handsomest article in Bofin; an' it's not payment my poor father wanted for savin' the life o' a fellow-crature. It's more credit to Delsie to have sich an honourable thing hangin' on her nail nor if she had ten goolden guineas in a stockin'!"

"True, ve-ry true," said Jan Dow. "So beautiful a maid does not want for a fortune."

And then the stranger took his leave, and he and Johnny Maillie walked back across the island to the beach.

Jan Dow paced the deck of his schooner that night when everyone was asleep-everyone but Delsie, perhaps, who was taking advantage of the hour of privacy to cry her eyes sore over those three unfriendly cows that kept staring at her from the shores of the detested mainland. The Dutchman's solitary figure loomed through the clearness of the spring night as he strode about meditatively in the silent ship whose shadow slept in the water. The spars of the strange schooner soared and pointed at the moon, which hung small and lonely in the vast greenish space of sea-bound sky; the curlews wakened and cried, and made sudden dark flights from one rocky nest to another; but Jan Dow was more wakeful than they. He was reviving in his mind an old familiar story, and comparing it with the new and curious history which he had accidentally heard this evening from the islanders.

"It is wonderful! wonderful!" he said, as he paced his deck. "How could people be so stupid-if this be the actual beaker! Did the crazy old fool not write a letter of explanation with his present? If not, it was only like his eccentricity. These people know no more than they have told me, and yet the story must be the same. An island of these seas-a beaker-a grateful Dutchman saved from drowning; but I had thought it was an island not at all in this direction!"

It would be tedious to follow further the thoughts of Jan Dow. After dwelling long on the mug they passed to Delsie; and before the curlews had finally settled to rest he had determined to see more both of the maiden and her heirloom.

CHAPTER II.

"IT'S AN ILL WIND THAT BLOWS NOBODY GOOD,"

SPRING progressed as it does in Bofin; a few days of balmy, exquisite weather, larks singing in myriads between sky and sea of azure; rocks warm and deep-coloured; waves smooth and sleepy, just pearling the dry and dazzling beach; people living out of doors; women singing to the pleasant thud of the oar in the water; nets getting mended and dried in the sun; the clink of the boatman's hammer ringing pleasantly with a far-and-near echo, which is a key-note for all the other life-sounds of the island to chime in with; then a few days of wild storm; then peace and paradise again. Meantime it seemed as if Jan Dow would never be satisfied that his vessel was in a seaworthy state: Johnny Maillie had again and again declared he had done all that was needful to the schooner, and still the Dutchman found new cause for uneasiness and more work to be done.

In the meantime the master of the vessel was a nightly visitor at Delsie Prendergast's cabin. There he would sit with the beaker before him, admiring the carving, delighting Graunia by assuring her of its beauty, and listening to her stories of its fame in the island. People began to say that the foreigner wanted Delsie for a wife, and that Delsie had forgotten Murt, and would marry him.

"An' musha but it's the fine chance for her!" said the gossips, "to sail away in a schooner of her own, an' be a travelled lady, an' see the world! An' she a girl without a bit to put in her mouth since the father was stormed out, God be marciful to him!"

Murt, who had found some trifling work over at West Quarter, was not of this mind, however, and came striding across the island one night to accuse Delsie, and pour out his wrath on her head. Jan Dow had just left her cabin, having drunk as usual from the beaker, and held it in his hands lovingly the whole time of his visit. Delsie having come out for some turf, was drawing her breath upon the heath; the plover whimpered out of the black-purple distance; the starlight made clear the little knolls and rugged hills; while the white gleaming line of the breaking wave curled and uncurled itself behind the straggling cabins at the edge of the great darkling sea. Delsie's eyes flashed with delight when Murt bore down upon her out of the shadows, and she listened to the list of her iniquities with a smiling face.

"So I'm goin' to marry the schooner, am I?" said Delsie, when the young man stopped out of breath. "An' why not, I'd like to know? Ora, it's as good to marry a schooner as three cows!"

"Cows!" cried Murt.

"Yes, cows," said Delsie, triumphantly. "Do you mane to put your hand on your heart an' say you're not goin' to marry three cows in Connemara afore the week is out?"

"For shame, Delsie! Ye desateful young woman, to thry to cover up your own falsity wid sich a story about me! But I'll argufy no more wid you, not if you were dyin' for it. Sail away out o' Bofin as fast as ye like in yer schooner, and it's not Murt 'Il stretch out a hand to hould ye back!"

Away strode the offended lover with his usual abruptness, leaving Delsie in dismay; for she could not now tell him she had already refused the schooner and the captain and all his possessions, and never meant to think of any man unless Murt should find himself able to marry her. She had quarrelled with her lover afresh instead of mending matters, and there was another night of crying for her, although her tears were not quite so bitter as they had been of late; the fierceness of Murt's wrath seeming to prove that there was no truth in that report about the cows. She went merrily enough to her work the next morning, and was able to joke with the Dutchman when he came hovering about her and pressing his suit. "I don't like schooners nor vessels," said Delsie, like the say, only lookin' at it this ways from an island. The very mainland I can't bear to be on for more nor a day. Somethin' buzzes in my head like to think of all the places I might go to all round me if I plased; an' still I never could go to them, unless I was runnin' on wheels instead o' feet."

66 an I don't

"I will bring you across the sea very fast," said the Dutchman; "and you can go to as many places as you like. We will have sails instead of wheels."

"Musha," said Delsie, "it's wings I'd want afther a day or two, instead o' either sails or wheels. Sorra thing you can do for Delsie but just lave her on Bofin, where she can stand steady her feet and know where she is an' what she's about."

In this way Jan Dow's courtship went on; not much to his satisfaction, for Delsie baffled him completely. She would not have his pretty presents, his corals, and shells, and other foreign toys, but she would laugh and jest with him as much as he liked. He became very downcast, and seemed to give up his suit, spoke of sailing from Bofin at an early date, and expressed great regret at parting with the friends he had made on the island. Maillie and others reproached Delsie for her folly in refusing so good an offer.

66

"It's not me he's in love wid, but the mug!" said Delsie, laughine. 'Sure didn't he offer to buy it from me, till I up an' tould him that my father's blessin' wasn't to be sold."

"Nonsense!" said Maillie. "I niver seen a man make sich an omadhaun o' himsel' for a giri. What's in the mug for him that sees iverything handsome, an' him sailin' round the world!"

However, Jan Dow appeared one evening begging for a loan of the mug for a day, as he wanted to make a drawing of it, in order that he might get one carved on its pattern. "I shall drink out of it always," he said, "and it will remind me of the happiest days of my life." The request was granted, and Graunia boasted of it to her neighbours round about, while Jan carried off the beaker with a troubled air, and sighed very much as he offered Johnny a drink out of

it on board the schooner. The next day he came to Maillie's house, and begged of Delsie to do him one last favour before he sailed. Would she come on board for the mug herself, and allow him to return it to her full of sweetmeats? He had also some pretty things for Maillie's children, which she surely would not refuse to fetch away.

But Delsie did refuse.

"Let him bring the mug himself," said she, "the way he brung it to the ship;" and Jan Dow returned disconsolately to his vessel. "It's a shame for ye, Delsie," said Johnny Maillie; "ye have no more heart in yer body nor a flinty stone. To think that ye wouldn't do that muchness of a compliment to the dacent man that brought us the work, and that paid you sich respect. His heart's raal down wid yer crassness; I seen him sittin' this mornin' all demurred an' quiet lookin' on the deck, spakin' to no wan. If ye have anything but imperence in ye, ye'll go off this very evening on board the ship, an' wish the captain good-speed to his journey, an' ax like a Christian for your mether.'

Delsie tossed her head, but when evening came she signified her intention of taking Johnny's advice. Jan Dow was in the forecastle of his vessel giving some orders to his men when Delsie came tripping up the plank with a half-comical, half-scornful expression on her laughing face.

"I've come for my old mether, Misther Captain," said she, gaily, as Jan Dow rushed forward to meet her, beaming with surprise and delight, and pouring forth his thanks for her visit. "I'm in a hurry to get home, so ye won't keep me long, if you plase."

"The beautiful beaker is in the cabin," said the captain. “I have made a little feast, and you will not refuse to drink my health before I depart."

66

"I've no taste for dhrinkin'," said Delsie, as ye might know by this time; but I'll ate yer health in an orange if ye like."

She went down with him into the cabin where the feast was spread-fruit, and wine, and sweetmeats, fit to tempt any potatoeater who might have a latent sweetness of tooth. She would not be induced to sit down, but in order to be civil, ate of the fruits and sweetmeats, and afterwards gave her attention to some pretty things which she had never seen before, and which the Dutchman had reserved for this occasion. Time passed quickly, although Delsie was in a hurry, and the girl never noticed how long she had been on board till a slight vibration of the boards under her feet caused her to start and feel dizzy.

"What's this?" she cried, suddenly. "The vessel's movin'." She flew to the stairway. "Mother of Heaven, we're out at say!" As indeed they were, leaving the island behind them as fast as they could.

It was a deep-coloured evening, such as often glorifies the Atlantic islands-most often before a storm. There was war in the clouds-purple struggling with crimson, and great scarlet seas overflowing the horizon and pouring themselves downward into the