In the parlour he provided himself with the plastering trowel and a sack, and wrapped the one in the other into a tight parcel, easily carried under the crook of his arm-pit.  With this he tiptoed along the passage.  There was no trouble with latch or bolt:  for, save in tempestuous weather, the front door of the old house—­like half the front doors of the town—­stood open all night long.  An enormous sea-shell, supposed of Pernambuco, served it for weight or “dog,” holding it tight-jammed against the wall of the passage.

Nicky-Nan seated himself on the bench in the porchway and did on his boots.  The light was very dim here, and his fingers trembled, so that he took a long time threading the laces through the eyelet-holes.  He became aware that his nerves were shaken.  At the best of times, with his hurt leg, he found this operation of lacing his boots one of the worst of the day’s jobs.  It cost him almost as much time as shaving, and far more pain.

But at length the laces were threaded and tied, and tucking his parcel under his arm he set forth.  He had forgotten his walking-staff and dared not go back to fetch it.  Moreover, in Polpier it is held to be inauspicious if, once started on an enterprise, you turn back for something you have forgotten:  and Nicky-Nan, a sceptic by habit, felt many superstitions assailing him this morning.  For instance, he had been careful to lace up his right boot before his left.

A high tide filled the inner pool of the harbour, and on its smooth surface several gulls floated, paddling lazily if at all.  These birds know Sunday from week-days as well as any Christian folk:  which is nothing very wonderful, for the Polpier boats have lain at home all the night and there is no fish-offal drifting about.  Nicky-Nan counted the birds carefully, and drew a breath of relief on assuring himself that they totalled fifteen—­an odd number and a lucky one.  But he had no sooner done so than, as if they had been waiting for him, to signal misfortune, two of the flock arose, pattered for a moment on the water, wheeled upward twice, thrice, in short circles, and sailed off.  His heart sank as he did the small sum in subtraction:  but he controlled himself, noting that they sailed off to the right.

It was pretty to see them rising out of the blue liquid shadow of the harbour-pool; rising until, in a flash, they took the morning sun-ray that struck almost level across the top of the chasm, and were transformed into winged jewels, dazzling the eye.  But Nicky-Nan scarcely marked this, being preoccupied with his cares and fears:  for where a man’s treasure is, there will his heart be also.  Nor did he note at the bend of the cliff, which brought him in turn, after a long climb, face to face with the sun, that already its beams were warming the dew-drenched cushions of thyme on either side of the track, and drawing delicious odour from them.  The ray, smiting full in his eyes for a moment or two, hid from him all details of the landscape ahead and on his left, even as effectually as it hid the stars of night.  Nicky-Nan hobbled on for a few paces, blinking.  Then, with a catch of the breath, he came to a halt.  His vision clearing by degrees, he let out a gasp and his knees shook under him.