lood tinged with the pale violet of an
Irishwoman's eyes. Great pillars of flame sprang up rebelliously and
spread over the burning horizon. Then a strange, soft, yellow and
vaporous light raised its twelve bore breech-loading ejector to its
shoulder and shot across the Cryanlaughin hills, and the cattle shone
red in the green pastures, and everything else glowed, and the whole
world burned with the bewildering glare of a stout publican's nose in
a London fog. And silence came down upon the everlasting hills whose
outlines gleamed in a prismatic--

"That will do," said a mysterious Voice, "the paint-box is exhausted!"

CHAPTER III.

I was shocked at this rude interruption.

"Sir!" I said, "I cannot see you, though I hear your voice. Will you
not disclose yourself?"

"Nonsense, man," said the aggravating, but invisible one, "do not
waste time. Let us get on with the story. You know what comes next.
_Revenons a nos saumons._ Ha, Ha! spare the rod and spoil the book!"

I was vexed, but I had to obey, and this was the result:

The pools were full of gleaming curves of silver, each one belonging
to a separate salmon of gigantic size fresh run from the sea. The
foaming Black Water tumbled headlong over its rocks and down its
narrow channel. DONALD, the big keeper, stood industriously upon the
bank arranging flies. "I hef been told," he observed, "tat ta English
will be coming to Styornoway, and there will be no more Gaelic spoken.
But perhaps it iss not true, for they will tell many lies. I am a
teffle of a liar myself."

And lo! as we watched, the grey sky seemed to be split in two by an
invisible wedge, and a purple gleam of light shot--

"Stow that!" said the Voice, "I have allowed you to put in a patch of
Gaelic, but I really cannot let you do any more sun-pictures. Try and
think that it is a close time for landscapes, and don't let the light
shoot again for a bit."

"All right," I retorted, not without annoyance, "but you'll just
have to make up your mind to lose that sal

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