An Orkney Maid

Yesterday morning this thing happened to me: I was reading the New York Times and my eyes suddenly fell upon one word, and that word rang a little bell in my memory, "Kirkwall!" The next moment I had closed my eyes in order to see backward more clearly, and slowly, but surely, the old, old town standing boldly upon the very beach of the stormy North Sea became clear in my mental vision. There was a whole fleet of fishing boats, and a few smart smuggling craft rocking gently in its wonderful harbour a harbour so deep and safe, and so capacious that it appeared capable of sheltering the navies of the world. I was then eighteen years old, I am now over eighty six; and the straits of Time have widened and widened with every year, so that many things appear to have been carried away into forgetfulness by the stress and flow of full waters. But not so! They are only lying in out of the way corners of consciousness, and can easily be recalled by some word that has the potency of a spell over them.