Inevitably there was a curious prying one amongst the brethren. He stole out behind Columba, against Columba’s orders, and from a knoll near by watched the saint commune with the heavenly host. I found it difficult to see this man, for he has two faces. To one of the faces we have to return thanks for all the engines in the world, I said to the Mate, who deals in text-books and pure science.

‘And to the other’, he replied promptly, ‘the broken-down engines,’ and laughed, remembering my ordeal in Skye.

And there and then the sun came shafting out, and the rain, that had turned small and white, passed away.

The sun can behave with splendour at times; and now into its glory all the brethren were resumed like the grey rain. If the Crew had never been damped, she quite got on her toes at sight of the gleaming Atlantic breakers on the dark rocks. Photographs! We had to follow her down over the great green machair and had to shout to her to watch out as we saw a big one coming.

Suddenly the earth near us shook, as a stout lady hit it solidly and sent a little white ball a very little way. So the great machair was a golf course. We listened, but heard no words. What language could golfers use on Iona?

Or, conversely, if a retired colonel wanted a real kick out of swearing, was this the very spot? But such a thought lurking about in the jungle would be enough to put his eye out. Moreover, there were three persons walking on the sands, and only half a mile away could be seen at irregular intervals a high burst of spray from the Spouting Cave, while the obviously half-demented woman stalking waves round rocks as if they were sporting lions was enough to upset even the pendulum-swing of a putter. It is improbable that real golfers, men who know the rules, will ever come to Iona.

Over the rocky part of the island is Port-na-Curaich, where Columba first landed. There is a reef of green serpentine in the bay—the Iona stone, out of which the island pebbles are carved and polished.

Port-na-Curaich is interesting in other ways; but again it is difficulty to get past Columba, for when he turned round as he landed here and could no longer see Ireland, where his tempestuous spirit had recently raised a war, tears came into his eyes. For he loved his own land of Ireland, as all good men love their own land, and being lucky in his he had the greater heart to feel the greater grief.

In the early evening we returned to the village and picked up our parcels, and stayed a while in the nunnery garden, for the Mate’s benefit, while the Crew told the flowers, and wandered on to St. Oran’s, where she left us to hunt milk.

As we went to enter at the gate of St. Oran’s (or Reilig Orain) we were astonished to find it locked. As there was nothing to steal but the chapel ruins and the tombstones, and as nobody would steal on Iona, we decided some mistake had been made, so we vaulted the wall.