"
"What is that?"
"Ow, jist the een o' the day.--the day's eyes, ye ken. They're
sma' een for sic a great face, but syne there's a lot o' them to
mak up for that. They've begun to close a'ready, but the mair they
close the bonnier they luik, wi' their bits o' screwed up mooies
(little mouths). But saw ye ever sic reid anes, or ony sic a size,
my leddy?"
"I don't think I ever did. What is the reason they are so large
and red?"
"I dinna ken. There canna be muckle nourishment in sic a thin soil,
but there maun be something that agrees wi' them. It's the same a'
roon' aboot here."
Lady Florimel sat looking at the daisies, and Malcolm stood a few
yards off watching for the first of the red sails, which must soon
show themselves, creeping out on the ebb tide. Nor had he waited
long before a boat appeared, then another and another--six huge
oars, ponderous to toil withal, urging each from the shelter of
the harbour out into the wide weltering plain. The fishing boat of
that time was not decked as now, and each, with every lift of its
bows, revealed to their eyes a gaping hollow, ready, if a towering
billow should break above it, to be filled with sudden death.
One by one the whole fleet crept out, and ever as they gained the
breeze, up went the red sails, and filled: aside leaned every boat
from the wind, and went dancing away over the frolicking billows
towards the sunset, its sails, deep dyed in oak bark, shining redder
and redder in the growing redness of the sinking sun.
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