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the guests and thanked them for their gifts in that soft language that separated her from him. Her face had strained with the expressions of hospitality and gratitude she had worn for the natives as they smiled kindly and curiously at her. One of the families had brought a puppy, a small dog of no particular breed. It was playing now at her feet, and she smiled as its clumsy paws prodded suspiciously at a shell recently dropped ashore by a gull. It was not a pretty animal, with its short legs and long black body. It had a brown face with pointed black ears. She could think of no name for it at present, but she liked it enough to realise it deserved one. Annie would have known what to call it, she thought, and reminded herself to ask her sister in the letter she had started the other night. Mr Bethune, who had not been satisfied with the rents supplied by the natives for their laird, had said that they could expect another boat from the taxman before the end of the summer. Supplies ordered to last the natives through the winter would be delivered on this occasion and Lizzie hoped that the taxman could bring her letters to Annie and her parents back with him to Harris.
    The puppy was licking her hands now, its eyes revealing a pathetic yearning for something which she failed to interpret. Instead she blushed as she remembered the hot eagerness of her husband, who had lain with her last night. His kisses were still burning on her skin like a fever. He was very careful these days out of respect for the baby inside her, but he was as ardent as always and she was pleased that their bed was so warm and close, although it sometimes worried her that the tenderness kindled there was often lost in daylight.
    The minister was sitting at the desk in his study. His gaze would occasionally rest on the beautiful view of the bay outside the window. He was thrilled with his new parish but concerned about the state of the congregation; he was particularly worried about the quality of their accommodation and the nature of their faith. He was writing in his notebook:
    Eight years ago my friend Dr MacDonald wrote in his report to the Society that the St Kildans had ‘some knowledge of the chief doctrines of the Bible, but that their knowledge was of a traditional and theoretical rather than of a scriptural and practical character’. This statement seems to be true still. In fact I myself have noted a serious lapse in their understanding of moral obligation. The St Kildans seem to have been very attentive to Dr MacDonald’s powerful sermons although I suspect that they were mainly charmed by his great eloquence and energy but had not enough knowledge or insight into the Scriptures to be able to follow the arguments. I have noted a similar distraction when I have preached. I fear that they are too ignorant of the leading truths of Christianity and the practical effects thereof to profit from my sermons. Something must be done, under the influence of the Spirit of God, naturally, to make the doctrines of Christianity enter into their hearts and minds. I am planning to hold meetings every Wednesday evening to teach them, clause by clause – indeed word by word, if necessary – the shorter catechism.
    He leaned back in his chair and flipped the pen between his long fingers. Perhaps they would also benefit from being able to read and write, he thought. Very few of them seemed to have mastered these skills. He would need to set up a school. The teaching would have to be conducted in Gaelic but perhaps his wife could help to try and teach them some English – that would perhaps bring her out of herself. He sighed as he pondered the monumental task that lay ahead of him.
    There was also the issue of the hygiene of the members of the congregation. It was difficult to accept that there were Christian souls in these modern times who lived in such filth. Their dwellings were not much better than the burrows of the puffins, and many of