not that. The boy had been deeply serious, plunged into some crisis that was of tremendous importance to him.
Harkness decided that he would wait until the shadow of a solitary tree to his right reached him and then go. The shadow crept slowly to his feet. At the same moment a figure turned the bend, a man with a black beard. He was walking quickly up the hill as though he knew that he was late.
Harkness went forward to meet him. The man stopped as though surprised. "I beg your pardon," said Harkness; "were you expecting to meet some one here?"
"I was—yes," said the man.
"He will be back in a moment. He was afraid that you might come up the other way. He went over the hill to see."
"Aye," said the man, standing, his legs apart, quite unconcerned. He was a handsome fellow, broad-shouldered, wearing dark blue trousers and a knitted jersey. "You'll be a friend of Mr. Dunbar's maybe"
"No, I'm not," Harkness explained. "I was passing and he asked me to wait for a moment and catch you if you came while he was away."
"Aye," said the fisherman, taking out a large wedge of tobacco and filling his pipe, "I'm a bit later than I said I'd be. Wife kept me."
"Fine evening," said Harkness.
