Chapter 15

           TheRossofMull,whichIhadnowgotupon,wasruggedandtrackless,liketheisleIhadjustleft;beingallbog,andbrier,andbigstone.Theremayberoadsforthemthatknowthatcountrywell;butformypartIhadnobetterguidethanmyownnose,andnootherlandmarkthanBenMore.

           IaimedaswellasIcouldforthesmokeIhadseensooftenfromtheisland;andwithallmygreatwearinessandthedifficultyofthewaycameuponthehouseinthebottomofalittlehollowaboutfiveorsixatnight.Itwaslowandlongish,roofedwithturfandbuiltofunmortaredstones;andonamoundinfrontofit,anoldgentlemansatsmokinghispipeinthesun.

           WithwhatlittleEnglishhehad,hegavemetounderstandthatmyshipmateshadgotsafeashore,andhadbrokenbreadinthatveryhouseonthedayafter.

           “Wasthereone,”Iasked,“dressedlikeagentleman?”

           Hesaidtheyallworeroughgreat-coats;buttobesure,thefirstofthem,theonethatcamealone,worebreechesandstockings,whiletheresthadsailors’trousers.

           “Ah,”saidI,“andhewouldhaveafeatheredhat?”

           Hetoldme,no,thathewasbareheadedlikemyself.

           AtfirstIthoughtAlanmighthavelosthishat;andthentheraincameinmymind,andIjudgeditmorelikelyhehaditoutofharm’swayunderhisgreat-coat.Thissetmesmiling,partlybecausemyfriendwassafe,partlytothinkofhisvanityindress.

           Andthentheoldgentlemanclappedhishandtohisbrow,andcriedoutthatImustbetheladwiththesilverbutton.

           “Why,yes!”saidI,insomewonder.