There are many stories in the West of fairy gold. The stories are very circumstantial and the gold quite real. I should be inclined to doubt, all the same, the adequacy of practical research in the matter, whether by mineralogist or folklorist.

But I should never doubt the fellow who found the fairy gold—once I had glimpsed his eyes.

It was quite dark by the time we were at Broadford, and after midnight before we had knocked up the mechanic. There was a long confidential talk on the roadside, during which we learned that the boat had been launched but was not yet altogether ready, what with cutting the peats, putting down the harvest, and one thing or another. However, he would be up at six o’clock in the morning and send off a telegram by the school children advising us of his arrival some time tomorrow, without fail. That was the best he could pledge himself to, so we said Sláinte! over again and departed amicably.

These long confidential talks in the dark—they would induce the hind leg off a donkey, so friendly their conspiracy, so warm, so pleasant. That no one is much deceived does not matter.

‘Do you think we’ll see the boat tomorrow?’ I asked Eoin.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘By one o’clock.’

I smiled in the dark and laid a bet that it would not be before four, for that was the hour at which we must depart.

The following morning was all bright loveliness and the sea shimmering and irresistible. We set a net between Hulm Island and the first rock on its north side and then explored the island for loose stones to weight the net. But they were difficult to find, for the volcanic rock was dark, pitted, and solidly fused. On the steep seaward ledges and on the grassy inland slope, seagulls were preparing their nests. We found one egg with dark blotches on its olive shell. There were masses of celandine in full bloom, while here and there were violet, seapink, and yellow trefoil. In the shallow western cave, where shags stuck to their nests until the very last moment, we came upon a marvellous display of sea-urchins, spined like the hedgehog. Their colouring in the clear water was very attractive, while ball-clusters of bright white and yellow adhering to the rocksides Eoin assured us were their young. After many attempts, we managed to balance an urchin, round and big as a tennis ball, on the blade of an oar and take it up and into the boat. It was low water after an exceptionally high spring tide, and the tangle-weed exposed their drooping fronds in miniature forests.

At one o‘clock Eoin’s voice called across the island, ‘Here she comes!’ I rejoined himself and the crofter in the boat and gazed as directed into the far sea haze but could see nothing. Eoin kept telling me to wait, as he had seen her all right. The crofter wasn’t quite so sure. After many minutes, I suggested he had seen her wraith, for he has an undoubted gift that way.