In the old stone Manse to the south of the island, the Rector, the Reverend Andrew Roberts, was attempting, not without difficulty, to eat his breakfast.

The difficulty was not occasioned by the food, for Flora MacKenzie, the housekeeper, prided herself (and with good reason) on the table she set for the family. Rather it was occasioned by the difficulty of eating a meal when three quarters of the table was festooned with greenery and half-made Christmas wreaths.

"I realise that it is traditional for islanders to take wreaths to the Laird as part of the Christmas Day celebrations, my dear," he said mildly. "But did you really need to take so much greenery from the churchyard? And leave it all over our only dining room table? Or was that Brian's doing?"

The smile that went with his words suggested that this was rather a gentle reproach. A quiet, unassuming man, with calm good looks in a rather English style (the influence of his mother), many people thought the Rector too mild. But those were people who had not come across the austere and rigid principles that governed his own life, although always balanced by unfailing tolerance for others.

"I hope you warned him to wash his hands carefully," he added. "Holly berries are quite poisonous, after all. And I see some yew in there too.

"Are you both taking the Curse to meet the ferry?" he went on, referring to the Manse shooting break - a car known as 'The Curse of Sisyphus', because it went up hills quite nicely if you pushed it. "I imagine our guests will all have luggage."

It was a cold dark day, with a slate grey sky that gave a strange slightly livid light to the white stone walls of the island cottages. At another season of the year, it would have meant a storm - and the fishermen would have made haste for the shore to secure their boats, while the children would have been called home from the moors.

But at this season, so shortly before Christmas, the sky could mean only one thing.

Snow. Heavy snow was coming.

On the small tramp steamer that, among other things, acted as the weekly ferry between the islands in Verrisay group and the small fishing port of Ledraig, the younger man coiling ropes on the deck cast a worried look at the sky, and then to the grizzled old salt smoking a pipe in the comparative shelter of the wheelhouse.

"Looks bad, Hamish!" he called. "Will we no venture today?"

"Aye, laddie, we'll venture," returned Hamish. "But we'll come back swiftish, and lay up at the Widow McPherson's for Christmas. There'll be no crossing the Sound till the New Year."

His assistant brightened. Christmas at the Widow McPherson's was a treat not to be missed, for there would be dancing and singing and good food and drink beside. It almost made this last crossing worthwhile.

Then he straightened and pointed.

"Hamish! Hamish! Passengers coming!"

And indeed there were, making their unsteady way along the wet and windy quay towards the boat. In the lead was a couple - a man with a pleasant if slightly vacuous face, one arm wrapped around a suitcase that was slightly too large to be carried under his arm, so that it was in danger of sliding to the cobbles of the quay. The other was a pretty, fair-headed woman, in her mid-twenties, like the man, but with an air of competence that he singularly lacked. It was clear that the two sturdy dockers had been pressed into service by her to carry the remaining cases, and looked to her for instruction.

"'The Pride of Oban'," she read from the side of the tramp steamer. "This is it, Oswald!"

"Well," returned her companion, reasonably, "this would have to be it, wouldn't it? I mean ... no other boats around her to be seen, old bean."

"It might not have been able to make the journey," she pointed out. "On the train, they did tell us there had been awful snowfalls on Rannoch Moor."

Her husband regarded her for a moment - clearly wondering whether to point out that heavy falls in the Highlands moors did not necessarily mean the Islands were similarly affected. But before he could pursue this, a stentorian roar drew their attention.

"Coming aboard?"

It was Hamish, peering down at them from the deck with beady eyes.

"Indeed we are!" returned the man, beaming up at the Captain. "Skeffington-Nottle - Oswald and Lucinda Skeffington-Nottle. We have passages booked."

Dr. David Bannister stood next to his wife in line, waiting for the Skeffington-Nottles to finish. For his part, he was a tall and lanky man with short, straight dark hair and dressed fastidiously. Once the couple in the lead had spoken, the Missionary Doctor spoke up.

"Bannister. David and Patience Bannister. We, too, have passage booked." His brown eyes cast up at the Captain.

Patience was a slender woman, standing close to her husband, dark hair gathered demurely at the nape of her neck. She smiled politely at the captain, murmuring her hellos in a low smoky voice, but otherwise remaining silent and in the shadow of her taller husband. Her dark dress is likewise demure and perfectly proper.

Standing behind the Bannisters was a single man unremarkably dressed in a raincoat and a small, neat hat. He smiled gently at the captain and spoke softly, with a distinct New York accent: "Me too. I'm Marcellus Arthur."

A little farther down the quay a sensibly wool-coated, hatted and booted figure, its bundling leaving its sex in doubt for a moment, staggered along with a small suitcase and a rather larger case of indeterminate nature. The figure reached the end of the line and stopped behind Marcellus, setting down both cases temporarily with a sigh of relief.

A pair of spectacles, set on a rather pointed nose, were the only parts of the figure's face to be visible until a gloved hand came up and pulled the scarf down from the mouth and chin.

"Tawney. Mabel Tawney," a flat alto voice called up to the Captain.

Arthur turned to her. He was not a very big man himself, but he inquired "Did you need some help with that, Miss...Mrs?...Tawney?"

"Miss Tawney," the woman answered, amiably enough, if a little breathlessly. "No, really, thank you, now that I've actually got here I should be all right. I always try to pack sensibly, you know, so I can carry the stuff myself, but the recorder always gives trouble. Invaluable, though, couldn't do without it!" she added briskly, beginning to get her breath back.

"Recorder?" he inquired. So that's what the big case is ... He could see that, now.

"Tape recorder," Miss Tawney confirmed. "I use it in my work -- I'm a folk song collector."

The sound of rushing footsteps could be heard echoing on the quay, as a striking, dark haired, young woman, bundled in fur and wearing a pair of most unsensible heels came into view.

Behind her an elderly, red faced man struggled with her trunk as she gushed words of encouragement for him to hurry.

She gave the gathered group a little wave, indicating she was one of their party.

"Mlle.Josette Belesur," she announced herself in a heavily accented, musical voice.

Arthur's attention was immediately arrested. "Josette? Josette!"

Patience's brown eyes were the color of liquid chocolate, wide and watching all the arrivals, her head cocked as she took in the details. She smiled slightly, her expression the look of someone who is quite used to listening, rather than speaking.

"Zap!" Josette exclaimed, her broad smile brightening. She hurried to him, planting a resounding kiss on each cheek. "What an unexpected surprise! You are looking well."

"How wonderful to see you!" he said, snatching her up into a tight hug. "It's been...how long?"

"Too long!" Josette answered heartfeltly, planting another kiss with a laugh.

Oswald and Lucinda had turned and were smiling at the new arrivals. Then Oswald gave a start.

"I say," he said to Mabel Tawney. "I think I've heard you give a talk at the English Folk Dance and Song Society. On the Verrisay Cycle. Oh, I say, this is tremendous luck! Old Cock Robin is a keen folk song man ... erm ... I should say, the Reverend Roberts. Cock Robin was just his nickname at school, you know. He's the Rector on Verrisay - you must meet him, you know! You are staying on Verrisay, are you?"

"Oh, yes," said Miss Tawney, sounding a bit disconcerted. "Yes, in fact the Reverend was kind enough to invite me. I hope to do some collecting while I'm here. The Verrisay Cycle, yes ... well, that was early work, you know, and I hope to better it by coming to the source..." She got that far before her attention was distracted.

Lucinda meanwhile was staring (and trying not to) at the American man. Finally she plucked up courage and cleared her throat.

"I say," she said, a little loudly, "aren't you Zap Arthur?"

The mild-looking little man in the raincoat and derby merely smiled and said, "Yes, I am."

In person he seemed to bear very little resemblance to the physically manic, thoroughly uninhibited half of the comedy team "Zapno & Mapcase," which had burst upon first American and then London consciousness about ten years earlier, to rave reviews. After a series of successful Broadway plays, in which Mapcase did all the talking, singing and romancing and Zap spent his time getting in and out of trouble, playing the piano and chasing (though rarely catching) beautiful women, the two had signed a multi-picture deal with Columbia Pictures in the early 1930's. The result had been such films as I Said She Wasn't, Avocadoes, Gone to the Fishes, and the newly released Careenin' Round the Coliseum in which the two played gladiators.

"He is too modest," Josette reprimanded gayly, giving him a light pat on the chest, "I adorrred your latest film."

He brightened. "Did you like the lions?"

"I loved the lions!" Josette replied enthusiastically. "Were they frightful to work with?"

About this time the steady rhythm of marching boots could be heard and a man wearing a thick black overcoat carrying a medium case tromped into view. He was into middle age with greying hair cut short and slicked back over his head. He had a stern no nonsense set to his features, handsome though they were. He strode past the group gathered to address the men working the boat. "Major Oswald Bastable. I've booked passage."

Now that all the expected passengers had gathered (for a few anonymous islanders had also arrived, and were greeted by Andy), Hamish and Andy between them lowered the gangplank so that everyone might (somewhat precariously) board the ship.

Once aboard there was the open deck passengers might promenade (well, walk a few paces) or, should the weather prove inclement, cling helplessly to the railing in an effort to avoid being swept overboard. There was also a dark and dank area below decks known as the Cabin where passengers who did not care for the open air might sit on slightly sodden cushions, smell mildew and peer out throgh sea-spattered panes of glass.

The islanders, inured to the vagaries of 'The Pride of Oban', gathered in the stern area, clearly keeping themselves to themselves and looking askance at the visitors.

Oswald sought out Mabel Tawney.

"I say, this is splendid! I only went to your lecture because old Cock Robin told me about it, but I found it jolly interesting! Did you say this will be your first visit to the source?"

"Er, yes," Miss Tawney answered a bit hesitantly. "The Verrisay Collection was very interesting, of course, but I hope to be able to study the effects of the Folk Process in situ, as it were. Collect more versions, that sort of thing, be able to compare them ... get a better idea of which are the primitive elements and which are later accretions ..." As she talked she seemed to be getting more into the swing of it, her blue-grey eyes brightening behind her spectacles.

"The Rector is quite an enthusiast, I gather, and I hope he'll be able to help me..." She checked, just briefly, then finished, "with my studies. Introducing me to people, and so forth, the islanders, that is."

Lucinda meanwhile was speaking shyly to the Bannisters.

"I'm Lucinda Skeffington-Nottle. I couldn't help seeing ... you're a clergyman too? I was wondering if you'd both be staying at the Rectory? Mary was saying in her letter that she was expecting quite a houseful ... Her husband and mine were at school together, you know."

David nodded. "My wife and I were invited to stay at the Rectory this Christmas. A change of pace from our usual stomping grounds, to be sure."

Patience offered a sweet smile. "It is good to meet you." She lapsed back into silence, letting her husband speak for the both of them.

"We're missionaries, actually, bringing the Good Word to those who have never had the chance to hear the Truth." he added.

"I think" he chuckled "we're part of the expected entertainment for the holiday, to regale with tales of the jungle and such."

"But how thrilling!" gasped Lucinda. "Where have you been? Really in the jungle? In Africa ? We have friends in Tanganiyka, but that is really terribly civilised now."

David shook his head. "No, actually, my wife and I work in the South Pacific. New Guinea , as it is called. There are still many tribes there in the mountain valleys who have never seen a white man."

"The Gold Rush in the twenties brought more people to the Australian part, Papua." David explained. "But we work further west, close to the Dutch part. And its nothing like colonial Africa . Hardly civilized at all."

In the Manse, the smell of breakfast cooking in the air eased young Brian Shea to wakefulness. His large green eyes opened, only to peer straight into a shiny pair of glittering beady black eyes, perched behind the quivering nose and bristly whiskers of a large fat rat, only inches away. "Top o' the mornin' ta ye, Mr Barfard," smiled Brain, "I hope ye slept well. After all that fuss back at the school, when Mr Stinkey Pants Headmaster yelling all about, and trying to round up yer brothers as they scrambled through the dormitory halls, I shouldn't wonder if ye couldn't sleep for a month."

The boy sat up, and hugged the rat. "Are ye hungry now? I nicked a wedge of cheese last night. We can share." He took the warm cheese from beneath his pillow and let Mr Barfard nibble away the thinnest edge. The he turned the wedge to himself and took a bit e as well, turning it back to the rat, as he chewed thoughtfully. At this time of year he could not help but think back to his old home back in Shannon , before his mother and father died. The Chirstmases in Ireland had been magical. Of course it was nice enough here, but it was mostly just cold.

He looked at the huge pile of holly he had kept from the little bit he had run over to the castle. It currently decorated Mr Barfard's box, giving the box a distinctly festive air. It hadn't been much fun running the greenery over, but it had been quite fun chopping the branches from the prickly leaved shrubs. He wondered, very briefly, if he shouldn't have given more of the yield to the people in the castle....and then decided he had been correct. After all,who was more important, some stuffy old people in that drafty castle, or the honorable Mr Barfard. It was no contest.

Now then, what would be fun to do today. He knew he must practice all afternoon. Hopefully he could fit in a little of that jazz that he had heard one of the boys at school playing, in between the Berlioz, and Brahms. Which left the morning, at least for fun. he could go down and join his uncle and auntie for breakfast...which would be dull, of course. Or he could sneak out of the house and go watch the ferryboat, which he could see from his window as he dressed. Life was full of easy choices.

He put on his big coat and stuffed Mr Barfard in one large pocket. He grabbed the rest of the cheese, and stuffed it in the other pocket. Very quietly he opened the heavy wooden door, and slipped from his room. Through the gloomy house he crept, heading for the door, and the wonders the morning might hold.

For those on the ferry, the island of Verrisay grew from a smudge on the horizon, to a distant shape in shades of dark green and purple, to a distinct shape, with small white cottages like pebbles sctattered across the island to ...

Almost before they knew it, they were pulling into the small fishing harbour and tieing up. A few islanders had gathered on the quay and were watching with some glowering interest. Of more interest to the visitors, perhaps, was the sight of two cars drawn up on the quay-side - both shooting brakes. But while one was polished and gleaming to the nth degree, the other was rather shabby and battered. A woman was standing beside this, waving vigorously.

"There's Mary!" said Lucinda to Oswald, and they both waved back enthusiastically.

Beside the other car was a tall cadaverous man in chauffeur's uniform. Although it had clearly been designed to fit him perfectly, it nevertheless seemed strangely ill-fitting - and seemed to occasion much mirth among a small group of children who were watching him.

Soon everyone had disembarked from the boat, the islanders first, and the visitors when they had gathered their luggage (Lucinda having pressed a couple of lounging youths into service to help with the Rectory luggage, Hamish and Andy assisting the others).

Mary Roberts raised her hand, a wide smile overtaking her usually quite plain face. She hurried down the path, her sensible shoes a godsend as she navigated the patches of ice. A lock of her hair, pale and blonde, escaped her headscarf, doing a wave of its own.

"Lucinda! Oswald! The waters weren't rough, were they?" She studied their bags, and the growing crowd on the dock, a moment of worry creasing her face. "Oh... Perhaps we should have gotten more to help out... But I think we can manage to get everyone and their things in the car." She waved her hand, as if to dismiss the moment, a smaller smile rising as her eyes cast down. "The Lord will provide. Come, please. We'll all catch our death down here."

As she was organising her party, Hamish hailed her from the ship.

"There you are, Mrs Brown! We've had one of those parcels for you from London ! I was going to send a boy up with it, but you'll be taking it yourself, no doubt?"

He was holding a brown paper wrapped package in his hands, about two foot by one, and a good six inches thick. He handed it over to Andy, his younger companion, and Andy skipped down the gangplank to present it to Mary.

Mary took it, the smile fading every so slightly, the lines around her mouth becoming clear as she read the address. She looked up at Hamish, pressing the parcel to her chest. "Many thanks, good man. I've been waiting for this... It seems good timing has blessed us this season!" She laughed, then turned back to her guests, slipping the parcel into her oversized carpet bag. "Shall we?"

David Bannister led his wife over to Mary, trying to steady the both of them after the sea trip.

"Mrs. Mary Brown." he said with a smile. "Thank you for your invitation. It's certainly a change of pace from the Tropics, as we've been telling our companions on the Ferry."

Patience stayed close to her husband, her smile for their hostess open and pleasant. "I am so glad to meet you. Thank you for having us here... I am very much looking forward to the holidays here."

Miss Tawney's keen scholar's mind had rapidly assimilated the fact that the shabbier-looking of the two cars was almost certainly from the Manse, even if Oswald and Lucinda's behavior hadn't tipped her off, and she was soon lugging her cases in that direction. She gave a curious, penetrating look at Mrs. Brown as she received her mysterious package.

There seemed to be more than usual activity going on in the harbour when the Pride of Oban docked. As Brian approached the quay, he could see his Aunt Mary and the Rectory shooting brake. There was also one of the cars from the Castle, and Beaton looking stiff and uncomfortable in a chauffeur's uniform.

As the ship docked he could see various people diembarking - including two he recognised from cigarette cards. Surely the pretty lady was the singer Josette Bellesur? And the man with her - wasn't that ... wasn't that Zap Arthur?

In person he seemed to bear very little resemblance to the physically manic, thoroughly uninhibited half of the comedy team "Zapno & Mapcase". But as well as collecting cigarette cards (in common with many boys his age) Brian also had access to contrabrand copies of movie magazines at school, and one had featured an article on Zapno and Mapcase - including a picture of Zap out of costume.

Brian Shea frowned as he considered the ramifications of the unexpected sight revealed at the landing. Yes, that simply must be Zapno. He did not expect to have such an opportunity again, so he decided that he must make the most of it. He straightened his coat, patted Mr Barfard and marched down to where the people were loading into the limo.

With no more introduction than that, he said "Mr Zapno, are you Mr Zapno? I certainly hope so, for I have a friend ye must use in yer next movie. He's absolutely brilliant. He's smart, and handsome and wonderful, and knows lots of tricks." He pulled Mr Barfard out and held the large fat black and white rat towards the movie star. "His name is Mr Barfard. And he likes most of your movies. He wasn't that keen on Avacadoes."

Aside from the rat, confronting Zap was a young boy with slight Irish accent, of about 12 years. He was fairly thin, even beneath his thick coat. His strawberry blond hair went well with his large green eyes. His expression was very serious for a young boy.

Zap grinned, accepting the rat with no difficulty whatsoever. "Aren't you the lovely one," he said to Mr. Barfard. "My rat's name is Cecil," he said. "Call me Zap, please, everyone does...and you are?"

Brian was surprised by this turn of events. He had expected Zapno to give Mr Barfard a kiss, as any right thinking person might, but to grab him was a definite breach of ettiquette...but he was an American, and a star. He let the actor pet the rodent for a moment before reaching to take him back.

"We are a team," the young boy explained, "I play the piano, and he does the tricks, Mr Zapn...er, Zap. I am Brian Shea, I live at the rectory with my Auntie and Uncle. You should meet them if we all are all going back to America to make movies. I shall look forward to meeting Cecil. I am sure him and Mr Barfard shall be best friends, and perhaps work in the movies together...with me playing piano."

The boy looked around, "It looks like your driver wants to go now. He looks mean. I probably don't like him."

Beside the other car on the dock was a tall cadaverous man in chauffeur's uniform. Although it had clearly been designed to fit him perfectly, it nevertheless seemed strangely ill-fitting - and seemed to occasion much mirth among a small group of children who were watching him.

Soon everyone had disembarked from the boat, the islanders first, and the visitors when they had gathered their luggage (Lucinda having pressed a couple of lounging youths into service to help with the Rectory luggage, Hamish and Andy assisting the others).

The chauffeur stepped forward, touched his peaked cap, and addressed the miltary figure of Major Bastable. "Are you for the Castle, sir?"

Zap Arthur and Josette Belleseur he appeared to ignore for the moment.

"I am, my good man." The Major nodded. "And you are?"

Zap tucked Josette's hand into his arm and said cheerfully "We are too."

The chauffeur cast a disparaging look towards them, and then turned back to the Major.

"I am Beaton, Sir. If you would care to indicate your luggage, I will see it safely stowed and we will be on our way."

He looked gloomily at Zap and Josette. They were included, but Beaton was clearly not overjoyed by the prospect.

"Pleased to meet you, Beaton," Zap said, still indicating nothing but the warmest of friendliness. "My trunk's over there. The green one with the stickers. Josette, which luggage is yours?"

Josette pointed out her cumbersome trunk, casting Beaton an apologetic, though not too apologetic smile. After all, she'd traveled a great deal and simply could not make do with any less. Besides, you never knew what unresistable treasures you might find when you reached your destination.

"There you go Beaton." The Major replied handing over his case. "Always believed in traveling light."

Soon they were all tucked into the shooting brake (with the offer of tartan rugs to wrap around their knees), and taking the long road up to the Castle. Closer and closer it loomed - grey and dour on the skyline - and then they were through the gate of the Castle and into the courtyard. A large battered lorry was there, and three men, all dressed a little shabbily, were hauling what seemed to be a large tree stump from the back. A rather more smartly dressed woman was holding open the door of the castle so they could pass in ...

Dr. William Campbell held his hat with one hand as a brisk wind blasted past. His other was laden with his heavy black medical satchel. He was returning home from an all-night birthing and he was still tired, although he managed some sleep when the midwife took over. In fact, old Mrs. Tremain had done most of the actual work. As a rule, doctors were there only to oversee the delivery and provide expertise in case anything went wrong.

Fortunately, the delivery had gone smoothly, and now the MacGuffins' were the proud parents of a healthy, eight pound boy - just in time for the holidays.

His walk home took the docctor past the rectory. Dr. Campbell decided he may as well share the news with Reverend Roberts that he had a healthy new parishoner this morning. And the bachelor in him agreed that a spot of breakfast woudn't hurt, seeing the light on in the manse's kitchen.

The doctor strode up the walk and rang the bell, a broad grin on his young face.

The door was opened by the austere figure of Flora MacKenzie, the housekeeper, her hair arranged in a prim fold at the back of her head, and the length of her skirt suggesting the excessive respectability of earlier days.

Will you no come in, doctor?" she said in invitation, the liliting accent of the Isles strong in her voice, holding the door aside for him to pass through into the dining room. "The Rector is at his breakfast, but I dinnae doubt he'll be glad to see you."

"Thank you, Mrs. MacKenzie. And I'll be glad to see him as well, I have some excellent news for him." Dr. Campbell nodded at the domestic with a warm smile.

Indeed, The Reverend Andrew Roberts rose to his feet and broke into a smile at the sight of his unexpected guest. "Ah ... Will! Are you up and about early, or late to your bed?" He frowned suddenly. "This is not professional, I hope? I'm not needed?"

As the only thing that he would be needed for would be a deathbed or the emergency christening of a sickly infant, his concern was understandable.

"No Reverend, no cause for alarm." Will reassured him quickly. "Just wanted to let you know that Robert MacGuffin arrived at 6:30 am this morn, at a healthy eight pounds. You have a new addition to your flock."

The doctor doffed his hat upon entering, revealing the handsome, well-formed face familiar to the Reverend as a fellow native of the island. His short black hair was disheveled from the night's work, but his brown eyes were keen as they regarded the younger man.

"That is excellent news," agreed the Reverend. "Will you join me for some breakfast, Will? I'm afraid the table is something of a sight for sore eyes ... "

He indicated the breakfast table, liberally strewn with greenery.

"Thank you Reverend for the invitation. I can see you discovered my more sinister motive for being here." Will Campbell chuckled. "Mrs. MacKenzie's cooking will be welcome in this poor weary bachelor's stomach."

"Mary and Brian were making Christmas wreathes for the party at the Castle tomorrow night ... but I'm afraid they haven't quite finished. They've gone to meet the ferry from Ledaig - at least, I think Mary has. We're expecting guests for Christmas and the New Year, you know.

"Let's move some of this stuff so that you can sit down. Shall I have Flora rustle you up some bacon and eggs, or would you prefer porridge?"

"Please, Reverend, don't have her go to any trouble on my account." Will demurred. "Porridge and toast will suit me just fine, so long as its accompanied by a hot tea.

"I don't mean to pry, but who are you expecting? Family?"

"An old schoolfriend and his wife," said the Rector. "Skeffers - Oswald Skeffington-Nottle. Bit of an ass but harmless enough, and his wife is a dear creature. Then there's a couple the bishop put on to us - the Bannisters. Missionary family on leave - and wanted to see Scotland . Bishop remembered that young chap we had staying here a few years back, and suggested us. And then we have a real coup ... do you remember those lovely folksongs that were found a few years back? The ones they call the Verrisay cycle, that turned up in that forgotten manuscript in a library somewhere? Well, the woman who found them is coming here. Wants to conduct some more research on the island it seems.

"Of course, when she wrote, I said we'd be delighted to have her too. It will be a bit of a squeeze, but the more the merrier, that's what I say."

"Excellent. There are no friends like old friends, Reverend." Will nodded. "And I do recall the Verrisay Cycle, although when they were published I was just leaving the service. Lovely ballads. It would be something if she uncovered more this season."

"So with all these guests I imagine I won't be seeing you on the links before the weather turns?"

"I'm afraid not," said the Rector with real regret. "Ah! Here's Mary now!"

All the passangers for the Manse - Oswald and Lucinda, David and Patience, and Mabel - were installed in the shooting brake, and driving away towards the Manse, situated on top of the southern hill, opposite the castle, which loured threateningly from the other side of the bay. As they drove, Mary explained what was planned - Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve, the morning service on Christmas Day, and the a Christmas lunch ... before everyone would go over to the Castle for the Christmas Night party.

The Manse was a large stone house, built in the early eigteenth century. Inside they found the Rector and another man drinking large mugs of tea, while the housekeeper, Flora MacKenzie, cleared away the last of the breakfast things.

The Rector was a quiet, unassuming man, with calm good looks in a rather English style (the influence of his mother). Many people thought the Rector too mild. But those were people who had not come across the austere and rigid principles that governed his own life, although always balanced by unfailing tolerance for others. His companion was introduced as Doctor William Campbell, the island doctor (and an old Navy man). Dr Campbell had a handsome, well-formed face, short black hair and keen brown eyes.

At last able to shed her copious outer wraps, Mabel Tawney proved to be a thin, slightly stooping woman in her late twenties, with sharp features and an aureole of curly light brown hair. Her dress could be charitably described as sensible rather than smart.

The Rector greeted the Skeffington-Nottles with enthiusiasm - although when it came to Oswald, this took the form of some public school ragging:

"Hello, Skeffers! Looking more of an ass than ever, I see! Where on earth did you get that waistcoat? How your good woman manges to put up with it without throttling you with your own neck tie, I shall never know!"

"Well, Cock Robin, we don't all need to hunt rejects from the charity bin, you know. How's the God bothering going?"

"Can't complain. Couldn't do it without the old girl, of course. She's a marvel, you know. The stipend doesn't go far, but she manages to keep us all warm and fed, and even pays Brian's school fees without needing more money!"

The Rector also greeted the Bannisters warmly, and made a point of introducing them to Dr Campbell. "Missionary doctor," he said. "And ship's doctor. I thought you might have something in comon ... "

Then he turned to Mabel Tawney. "I can't tell you what an honour this is!" he said warmly. "The discoverer of the Verrisay Cycle! All those lovely ballads ... coming from this small island! And lost for so long - not a memory of them surviving in any of our local singers, although several have learned them anew now. You must certainly speak to Davis MacKenzie ... one of our native musicians. And the Institute of Higher Celtic Thought have arranged quite original settings too ... " He coloured faintly at the thought of just how original some of those settings were.

Miss Tawney, too, was looking slightly embarrassed, though whether from modesty or some other reason could not be said. "That's very kind of you, Dr. Brown," she said, in her flat, rather nasal voice. "I must certainly talk to Mr. MacKenzie ... I am very interested in how the songs may have transmuted in the interim. Higher Celtic Thought, yes... I'm afraid some people do get carried away, but it's all part of the Folk Process after all."

Flora MacKenzie, still clearing away dishes, gave a loud sniff.

"Now, now, Flora," said the Rector. "You know that the Institute means all for the best."

"Aye," said Flora. "If taking all your clothes off and leaping through fires as you wail heathen songs is all for the best! Why the poor Doctor isn't up there treating them all for pneumonia on a weekly basis, I shall never know ... "

"Well, they don't do it all the time," said the Vicar soothingly. "Only on days they hold as important in the Celtic calendar ... And probably not at all for the winter ones," he added firmly, seeing Oswald at least looking interested.

"Dr. and Mrs. Bannister, a pleasure." Dr. Campbell greeted the couple, with a demurring nod to Mrs. Bannister. "Missionary work, eh? You must have come across quite a few interesting cases in that line?"

"You might say that." David replied to Dr. Campbell. "Although my work is more in treating souls than injuries, my wife and I have seen some rather unusual illnesses in the depths of the South Pacific."

He smiled. "A pleasure to meet you." he added.

"Ah. I've seen a few odd cases myself, treating sailors." Will Campbell replied. "Where were you stationed?"

Patience nodded at Dr. Campbell as they were introduced, and smiled sweetly. She again let her husband speak for her, while her gaze travelled over the rest of the room. Safe in the circle of David's proximity, she was able to take in their new surroundings without appearing overtly, or perhaps impolitely, curious.

"New Guinea , toward the Dutch half of the island." David answered politely. "Definitely a completely different climate than this cold, rocky isle. But, then, my wife and I are both originally from the Dominion, so you never do quite lose your taste and ability to handle this sort of weather.' he explained.

 

End of Chapter 2

Chapter 1 | Top | Chapter 3