Haward recognized the store which his father--after the manner of his kind, merchant and trader as well as planter and maker of laws--had built, and which, through his agent in Virginia, he had maintained.
Before one of the benches a man was kneeling with his back to Haward, who could only see that his garb was that of a servant, and that his hands were busily moving certain small objects this way and that upon the board.
At the edge of the space of bare earth were a horse-block and a hitching-post.

Haward rode up to them, dismounted, and fastened his horse, then walked over to the man at the bench.
So intent was the latter upon his employment that he heard neither horse nor rider.

He had some shells, a few bits of turf, and a double handful of sand, and he was arranging these trifles upon the rough, unpainted boards in a curious and intricate pattern.

He was a tall man, with hair that was more red than brown, and he was dressed in a shirt of dowlas, leather breeches, and coarse plantation-made shoes and stockings.
"What are you doing ?" asked Haward, after a moment's silent watching of the busy fingers and intent countenance.
There was no start of awakened consciousness upon the other's part.

"Why," he said, as if he had asked the question of himself, "with this sand I have traced the shores of Loch-na-Keal.