“Ye ken what that’s for—­I needna tell ye,” said Paterson; and Kinlay reeled over and fell upon the floor, while Jack Paterson walked quietly into the street.

The explanation of this swift chastisement was this.  There had that morning been a small indignation meeting of Stromness fishermen.  They were all determined that Kinlay should see they had no sympathy with him, and the purpose of the meeting was to determine what form of vengeance they should employ.

Their method was simply that which Jack Paterson had carried out, in boldly confronting Kinlay with closed fists; and when Jack’s fellow fishermen heard what he had done their revenge was satisfied, and they returned to their daily duties with accustomed quietude, only agreeing in this, that thereafter Carver Kinlay was to be recognized as the common enemy of all true Orkney men; that he was not to be molested, but that none was to give him help in any way soever.

Chapter XXIV.  Carver Kinlay’s Success.

The Lydia was laid up for about a fortnight.  A slight delay in completing her repairs was occasioned by the want of timber—­a scarce commodity in Orkney, where there are no trees—­but suitable material was procured from a homeward-bound ship.  Captain Gordon never, in my hearing, referred directly to my sister Jessie’s caution about the barque’s masts; but I noticed that the new masts were made shorter and stouter than those that had suffered in the storm.  There was also some difficulty in procuring new boats for the ship; but Captain Flett at last found a jolly boat, and one morning early I took it out to the Lydia.

When I went below I found Mr. Gordon sitting over his breakfast with Marshall, his first mate.  I remained talking with them for some time, when we were interrupted by one of the ship’s boys, who came down with a note to the skipper.

Captain Gordon read it with some show of consternation.

“What can be the meaning of that, Marshall?” he asked, handing the piece of paper across the table to the mate.

“Why, captain, I suppose you’ve been getting into some scrape ashore,” said Marshall.

“Scrape!  I’ve been in no scrape,” said Gordon, “unless, indeed, it be the accident last Sunday week.”

And he handed the note to me, asking if I could throw any light upon it.

The note was from Bailie Duke, and it ran as follows: 

“Be in readiness.  An officer from Kirkwall will be on board of you in a little with a summons.—­Yours, &c., H. Duke.”

I had hardly finished reading it when a noise as of someone boarding was heard on deck, and presently Captain Miller of the Albatross came rushing down the cabin stairs.  He was evidently newly out of his bunk for his face was unwashed, his hair uncombed, and his large overcoat was roughly thrown over his sleeping clothes.

“What the mischief does this mean?” he exclaimed throwing a note on the table the facsimile of that which was puzzling Captain Gordon.