"Johnny, my man, come on deck now, and I will show you where you are
going to live. You're all right now, aren't you? And you will be on the
solid land again in about ten minutes."

Macleod's gillie rose--or, rather, got down--from the campstool, and
showed himself to be a miserable, emaciated child of ten or eleven, with
a perfectly colorless face, frightened gray eyes, and starved white
hands. The contrast between the bronzed and bearded sailors--who were
now hurrying about to receive the boat from Dare--and this pallid and
shrunken scrap of humanity was striking; and when Macleod took his hand,
and half led and half carried him up on deck, the look of terror that he
directed on the plunging waters all around showed that he had not had
much experience of the sea. Involuntarily he had grasped hold of
Macleod's coat as if for protection.

"Now, Johnny, look right ahead. Do you see the big house on the cliffs
over yonder?"

The child, still clinging on to his protector, looked all round with the
dull, pale eyes, and at length said,--

"No."

"Can't you see that house, poor chap? Well, do you see that boat over
there? You must be able to see that."

"Yes, sir."

"That boat is to take you ashore. You needn't be afraid. If you don't