Title: Three Boys - or the Chiefs of the Clan Mackhai
Author: Fenn, George Manville, 1831-1909
Language: English
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Three Boys; or The Chiefs of the Clan Mackhai, by George Manville Fenn.

________________________________________________________________________

This time the  Manville Fenn formula of peril after peril does not lead
us abroad but to an almost ruined castle on the north-west coast of
Scotland.

Max is the son of a London lawyer, from whom the Clan Chieftain has been
borrowing large sums of money and not repaying them, so that in the end
the Castle is distrained upon.  Meanwhile Max, who has been sent up to
the Castle to stay with the Mackhais, has been put through test after
test of his bravery by the Chieftain's son and his gillie.

With this information the end of the story is almost predictable, yet we
read of peril after peril, and still we feel sure that this one must be
the last.

A very good tale.  NH

________________________________________________________________________

THREE BOYS; OR THE CHIEFS OF THE CLAN MACKHAI, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.



CHAPTER ONE.

THE MACKHAI OF DUN ROE.

"Look here, Scoodrach, if you call me she again, I'll kick you!"

"I didna ca' you she.  I only said if she'd come ten the hoose aifter
she had the parritch--"

"Well, what did I say?"

"Say?  Why, she got in a passion."

Whop!  Flop!

The sound of a back-handed slap in the chest, followed by a kick, both
delivered by Kenneth Mackhai, the recipient being a red-headed,
freckled-faced lad of seventeen, who retaliated by making a sharp snatch
at the kicking foot, which he caught and held one half moment.  The
result was startling.

Kenneth Mackhai, the sun-browned, well-knit, handsome son of "the
Chief," came down in a sitting position on the stones, and screwed up
his face with pain.

"Scood, you beggar!" he roared; "I'll serve you out for--"

"Ken, are you coming to breakfast?" cried a loud, severe voice from
fifty yards away.

"Coming, father!" shouted the lad, leaping up, giving himself a shake to
rearrange his dark green kilt, and holding up his fist threateningly at
the bare-legged, grinning lad before him.  "Just you wait till after
breakfast, Master Scood, and I'll make you squint."

The lad ran up the steep slope to the garden surrounding the ancient
castle of Dunroe, which had been built as a stronghold somewhere about
the fourteenth century, and still stood solid on its rocky foundation; a
square, keep-like edifice, with a round tower at each corner,
mouldering, with portions of the battlements broken away, but a fine
monument still of the way in which builders worked in the olden time.

The portion Kenneth Mackhai approached had for inhabitants only the
jackdaws, which encumbered the broken stairs by the loopholes with their
nests; but, after passing beneath a gloomy archway and crossing the open
interior, he left the old keep by another archway, to enter the
precincts of the modern castle of Dunroe, a commodious building, erected
after the style of the old, and possessing the advantages of a roof and
floors, with large windows looking across the dazzling sea.

Kenneth entered a handsome dining-room, where the breakfast was spread,
and where his father, The Mackhai, a tall, handsome man of fifty, was
pacing angrily up and down.

"Sorry I kept you, father.  Scood said there was a seal on the lower
rocks, and--"

"The scoundrel!  How dare he?" muttered The Mackhai.  "To take such a
mean advantage of his position.  I will not suffer it.  I'll--"

"I'm very sorry, father!" faltered Kenneth, crossing slowly toward his
frowning elder.  "I did not mean to--"

"Eh! what, Ken, my boy?" cried The Mackhai, with his countenance
changing.  "I've only just come in.  Sit down, my lad.  You must be
half-starved, eh?"

"I thought you were cross with me, sir."

"Cross?  Angry?  Not a bit.  Why?"

"You said--"

"Tchah! nonsense!  Thinking aloud.  What did you say?--a seal?"

"Yes, father.  Scood said there was one, but it had gone."

"Then you didn't shoot it?  Well, I'm not sorry.  They're getting scarce
now, and I like to see the old things about the old place.  Hah!" he
continued, after a pause that had been well employed by both at the
amply-supplied, handsomely-furnished table; "and I like the old porridge
for breakfast.  Give me some of that salmon, Ken.  No; I'll have a
kipper."

"More coffee, please, father," said Ken, with his mouth full.  "Have a
scone, father?  They're prime."

"Gently with the butter, my boy.  There is such a thing as bile."

"Is there, father?" said Kenneth, who was spreading the rich yellow
churning a full quarter of an inch thick.

"Is there, sir!  Yes, there is.  As I know to my cost.  Ah!" he added,
with a sigh, and his face wrinkled and made him look ten years older;
"but there was a time when I did not know the meaning of the word!"

"Oh, I say, father," cried Kenneth merrily, "don't!  You're always
pretending to be old, and yet you can walk me down stalking, and Long
Shon says you can make him sore-footed any day."

"Nonsense! nonsense!" said The Mackhai, smiling.

"Oh, but you can, father!" said Kenneth, with his mouth full.  "And see
how you ran with that salmon yesterday, all among the stones."

"Ah, yes!  I manage to hold my own; but I hope you'll husband your
strength better than I did, my boy," said The Mackhai, with a sigh.

"I only hope I shall grow into such a fine man!" cried Kenneth, with his
face lighting up, as he gazed proudly at his father.  "Why, Donald
says--"

"Tut, tut, tut!  Silence, you miserable young flatterer!  Do you want to
make your father conceited?  There, that will do."

"Coming fishing to-day, father?"

There was no answer.

The Mackhai had taken up a letter brought in that morning by one of the
gillies, and was frowning over it as he re-read its contents, and then
sat thoughtfully gazing out of the window across the glittering sea, at
the blue mountains in the distance, tapping the table with his fingers
the while.

"Wonder what's the matter!" thought Kenneth.  "Some one wants some
money, I suppose."

The boy's face puckered up a little as he ceased eating, and watched his
father's face, the furrows in the boy's brow giving him a wonderful
likeness to the keen-eyed, high-browed representative of a fine old
Scottish clan.

"Wish I had plenty of money," thought Kenneth; and he sighed as he saw
his father's face darken.

Not that there was the faintest sign of poverty around, for the room was
tastily furnished in good old style; the carpet was thick, a silver
coffee-pot glistened upon the table, and around the walls were goodly
paintings of ancestral Mackhais, from the bare-armed, scale-armoured
chief who fought the Macdougals of Lome, down to Ronald Mackhai, who
represented Ross-shire when King William sat upon the throne.

"I can't help myself," muttered The Mackhai at last.  "Here, Ken, what
were you going to do to-day?"

"I was going up the river after a salmon."

"Not to-day, my boy.  Here, I've news for you.  Mr Blande, my London
solicitor, writes me word that his son is coming down--a boy about your
age."

"Son--coming down?  Did you invite him, father?"

"Eh?  No: never mind that," said The Mackhai hastily.  "Coming down to
stay with us a bit.  Regular London boy.  Not in very good health.  You
must be civil to him, Ken, and show him about a bit."

"Yes, father," said Kenneth, who felt from his father's manner that the
coming guest was not welcome.

"He is coming by Glasgow, and then by the Grenadier.  His father thinks
the sea will do him good.  Go and meet him."

"Yes, father."

"Tell them to get a room ready for him."

"Yes, father."

"Be as civil to him as you can, and--Pah!"

That ejaculation, pah! came like an angry outburst, as The Mackhai gave
the table a sharp blow, and rose and strode out of the room.

Kenneth sat watching the door for a few moments.

"Father's savage because he's coming," said Kenneth, whose eyes then
fell upon a glass dish of marmalade, and, cutting a goodly slice of
bread, he spread it with the yellow butter, and then spooned out a
portion of the amber-hued preserve.

"Bother the chap! we don't want him here."

Pe-au, pe-au, came a wailing whistle through the open window.

"Ah, I hear you, old whaupie, but I can do it better than that," said
Kenneth to himself, as he repeated the whistle, in perfect imitation of
the curlews which abounded near.

The whistle was answered, and, with a good-tempered smile on his face,
Kenneth rose from the table, after cutting another slice of bread, and
laying it upon that in his plate, so as to form a sticky sandwich.

"Scood!" he cried from the window, and barelegged Scoodrach, who was
seated upon a rock right below, with the waves splashing his feet,
looked up and showed his white teeth.

"Catch!"

"All right."

Down went the bread and marmalade, which the lad caught in his blue
worsted bonnet, and was about to replace the same upon his curly red
head, but the glutinous marmalade came off on one finger.  This sticky
finger he sucked as he stared at the bread, and, evidently coming to the
conclusion that preserve and pomade were not synonymous terms, he began
rapidly to put the sweet sandwich somewhere else.

"I wish you had kept it in your bonnet, Scood."

The boy looked up and laughed, his mouth busy the while.

"Father saw sax saumon in the black pool," he cried eagerly.

"Then they'll have to stop," said Kenneth gloomily.

"Eh?"

"There's a chap coming down from London."

"To fesh?"

"Suppose so.  We've got to go and meet him."

"With ta pony?"

"No, the boat; coming by the Grenadier."

"Ou ay."

"It's a great bother, Scood."

"But it's a verra fine mornin' for a sail," said the boy, looking up and
munching away.

"But I didn't want to sail; I wanted to fish."

"The fush can wait, tat she can."

"Oh, you!" shouted Kenneth.  "Wish I had something to throw at you."

"If she did, I'd throw it back," said Scoodrach, grinning.

"I should like to catch you at it.  There, go and get the boat."

"Plenty of time."

"Never mind that; let's be off and have a good sail first, as we have to
go."

"Will she--will you tak' the gun?"

"Of course I shall.  Take the lines too, Scood; we may get a mackerel."

The lad opened his large mouth, tucked in the last piece of marmalade,
and then leaped off the stone on to the rock.

"Scood!"

The boy stroked down his grey kilt, and looked up.

"Put on your shoes and stockings."

"What for?"

"Because I tell you.  Because there's company coming.  Be off!"

"She's got a big hole in her stocking, and ta shoe hurts her heel."

"Be off and put them on," roared Kenneth from the window.  "I shall be
ready in a quarter of an hour."

Scood nodded, and began to climb rapidly over the buttress of rock which
ran down into the sea, the height to which the tide rose being marked by
an encrustation of myriads of acorn barnacles, among which every now and
then a limpet stood out like a boss, while below, in the clear water, a
thick growth of weed turned the rock to a golden brown, and changed the
tint of the transparent water.



CHAPTER TWO.

"A BORE!"

"What a bother!" muttered Kenneth, as he left the dining-room, crossed
the hall, and entered a little oak-panelled place filled with all kinds
of articles used in the chase, and whose walls were dotted with
trophies--red deer and roebucks' heads, stuffed game, wild fowl, a
golden eagle, and a pair of peregrine falcons.  He took a double-barrel
from the rack, placed a supply of cartridges in a belt, buckled it on,
and then returned to the oak-panelled hall, to pause where his bonnet
hang over the hilt of an old claymore.

Carelessly putting this on, he sauntered out of the hall into the
shingly path, where he was saluted by a chorus of barking.  A great
rough-coated, long-legged deerhound came bounding up, followed first by
a splendid collie with a frill about his neck like a wintry wolf, and
directly after by a stumpy-legged, big-headed, rough grey Scotch
terrier, with a quaint, dry-looking countenance, which seemed like that
of some crotchety old man.

"Hi, Bruce!" cried Kenneth, as the deerhound thrust a pointed nose into
his hand.  "What, Dirk, lad!"

This to the collie, which reared up to put its paws upon his chest, and
rubbed its head against its master; while the little dog ran round and
round clumsily, barking all the while.

"Down, Dirk!  Quiet, Sneeshing, quiet!"

The dogs were silent on the moment, but followed close at their master's
heels, eyeing the gun wistfully, the deerhound going further, and
snuffing at the lock.  Being apparently satisfied that it was not a
rifle, and that consequently his services would not be required, the
hound stopped short by a warm, sheltered place, crouched down, and
formed itself into an ornament upon the sea-washed rock.

"There, you can do the same, Dirk.  It's boat day," said Kenneth.

The collie uttered a whine and a loud bark.

"Yes, it's boat day, lad.  Be off!"

The dog stopped short, and only the little ugly grey terrier followed
his master, wagging a short stump of a tail the while, till Kenneth
noted his presence.

"No, not to-day," he said sharply.

"Wuph!"

"No.  Can't take you.  Go back, old chap.  Another time!"

Sneeshing uttered a low whine, but he dropped down on the shingle which
took the place of gravel, and Kenneth went slowly on along a path formed
like a shelf of the huge rock, which, a peninsula at low, an island at
high water, towered up from the blue sea an object of picturesque
beauty, and a landmark for the sailors who sailed among the fiords and
rocks of the western shore.

The scene around was glorious.  Where the soft breeze did not turn the
water into dazzling, rippling molten silver which sent flashes of light
darting through the clear air, there were broad bands of still water of
a brilliant blue; others beneath the shelter of the land were of a deep
transparent amethyst, while every here and there mountainous islands
rose from the sea, lilac, purple, and others of a delicate softened
blue, which died away into the faintest film.

Shoreward, glorified by the sunshine, the mountains rose from the
water's edge; grey masses of stone tumbled in confusion from a height of
four thousand feet to the shore, with clusters of towering pine and
larch and groups of pensile birches in every sheltered nook.  Here the
mountain showed patches of dark green and purple heath; there brilliant
green and creamy beds of bog moss, among which seemed to run flashing
veins of silver, which disappeared and came into sight, and in one place
poured down with a deep, loud roar, while a mist, looking like so much
smoke, slowly rose from the fall, and floated away with a rainbow upon
its breast.

On every side, as Kenneth Mackhai gazed around from the rocky foot of
the mouldering old castle, there were scenes of beauty which would have
satisfied the most exacting.  Cloud shadow, gleaming sunshine, purple
heather, yellow ragwort like dusts of gold upon the mountain side, and
at his feet the ever-changing sea.

It was all so lovely that the lad stood as if entranced, and exclaimed
aloud,--

"Bother!"

Then there was a pause, and, with an impatient stamp of his foot, he
exclaimed,--

"Oh, hang it all! what a bore!"

But this was not at the scene around.  Ken had looked upon it all in
storm and sunshine ever since he could toddle, and he saw none of it
now.  His mental gaze was directed at the salmon stream, the trouty
lochs, the moors with their grouse and black game, and the mountains by
Glenroe where he was to have gone deer-stalking with Long Shon and
Tavish, and with Scood to lead the dogs, and now all this was to be
given up because a visitor was coming down.

"Ah-o! ah-o!" came from the water, and a boat came gliding round from
the little bay behind the castle, with Scood standing up in the stern,
and turning an oar into a fish's tail, giving it that peculiar waving
motion which acts after the fashion of a screw propeller, and sends a
boat along.

But the boat needed little propelling, for the tide swept swiftly round
by the rocky promontory on which the castle stood, and in a few minutes
Scood had run the little vessel close beside a table-like mass of rock
which formed a natural pier, and, leaping out, rope in hand, he stood
waiting for Kenneth to descend.

"Look here, you sir," cried the latter; "didn't I tell you to put on
your shoes and stockings?"

"Well, she's got 'em in the poat all ready."

"I'll get you in the boat all ready!" cried Ken angrily.  "You do as
you're told."

"And where am I to get another pair when they're worn out?" remonstrated
Scood.

"How should I know?  There, jump in."

Ken set the example, which was followed by Scood, and, as the boat
glided off, yielding to the stream and the impetus, a miserable yelp
came from the rocks above, followed by two dismal howls in different
keys.  Then there was an atrocious trio performed by the three dogs,
each of which raised its muzzle and its eyes skyward, and uttered an
unmusical protest against being left behind.

"Yah, kennel! go home!" roared Kenneth; and the collie and deerhound,
after another mournful howl apiece, went back, but the grey terrier paid
no heed to the command, but came closer down to the water, and howled
more loudly.

"Ah, Sneeshing!" cried Scoodrach.

"Yow--how!" cried the dog piteously, which evidently by interpretation
out of the canine tongue meant, "Take me!"

"Will you be off?" shouted Kenneth.

"How-aoooo!"

"If you don't be off, I'll--"

The lad raised his gun, cocked both barrels, and took aim.

The effect upon the ugly little terrier was instantaneous.  He tucked
his tail between his legs, and rushed off as hard as ever he could lay
leg to rugged rock?

Nothing of the kind.  He took it as a direct insult and an injurious
threat.  Raising his stumpy tail to its full height of two inches,
without counting the loose grey hairs on the top, he planted his four
feet widely apart, and barked furiously, changing his appealing whines
to growls of defiance.

"You shall not frighten him," said Scood, showing his teeth.

"I'll let you see," cried Kenneth.  "Here, you, Sneeshing, be off!
home!"

There was a furiously defiant roulade of barks.

"Do you hear, sir?  Go home!"

A perfect volley of barks.

Bang!

Kenneth fired over the dog.

"You shall not frighten him," said Scoodrach again.

He was quite right, for the shot seemed to madden the dog, who came to
the very edge of the rock, barking, snarling, leaping up with all four
legs off the rock at once, dashing to and fro, and biting at the scraps
of lichen and seaweed.

"She says you're a coward, and don't dare do it again," cried Scoodrach,
grinning.

"Does he?  Then we'll see," cried Kenneth, firing again in the air.

"I told you so," cried Scoodrach.  "Look at him.  She'd bite you if you
wass near."

"For two pins I'd give him a good peppering," grumbled Kenneth, slipping
a couple of cartridges into the gun, and laying it down.

"Not you," said Scood, stepping the mast, Kenneth helping him with the
stays, and to hoist a couple of sails.  Then the rudder was hooked on,
and, as the rapid current bore them out beyond the point, the wind
filled the sails, the boat careened over, the water rattled beneath her
bows, and, as the little vessel seemed to stand still, the beautiful
panorama of rocky, tree-adorned shore glided by, Sneeshing's furious
barking growing more distant, and dying right away.



CHAPTER THREE.

THE GUEST FROM LONDON.

It was well on in the afternoon when Scoodrach, who was lying upon his
chest with his chin resting on the boat's gunwale, suddenly exclaimed,--

"There she is."

The sun was shining down hotly, there was not a breath of air, and
Kenneth, who seemed as languid as the drooping sails, slowly turned his
head round to look at a cloud of smoke which appeared to be coming round
a distant point of land.

Hours had passed since they sailed away from Dunroe, and for a time they
had had a favourable wind; then it had drooped suddenly, leaving the sea
like glass, and the boat rising and falling softly upon the swell.
There had been nothing to shoot but gulls, which, knowing they were
safe, had come floating softly round, looking at them with inquiring
eyes, and then glided away.  They had gazed down through the water at
the waving tangle, and watched the shoals of glistening young fish.
They had whistled for wind, but none had come, and then, as they lay in
the boat at the mercy of the swift tide, the hot hours of the noontide
had glided by, even as the current which bore them along the shore,
helpless unless they had liked to row, and that they had not liked to do
upon such a glowing day.

"I don't believe that's she," said Kenneth lazily.  "That's the cargo
boat.  Grenadier must have gone by while you were asleep."

"While she wass what?" cried Scood sharply.  "Haven't been to sleep."

"Yes, you have.  You snored till the boat wobbled."

"She didn't.  She never does snore.  It wass you."

"All right.  Dessay it was," said Kenneth, yawning.  "Oh, I say, Scood,
I'm getting so hungry, and we can't get back."

"Yes, we can.  We shall have to row."

"I'm not going to row all those miles against tide, I can tell you."

"Very well.  We shall have to wait."

"I can't wait.  I want my dinner."

"It is the Grenadier!" cried Scood, after a long look.  "I can see her
red funnel."

"You can't at this distance."

"Yes, I can.  The sun's shining on it; and there's the wind coming."

"How do you know?"

"Look at the smoke.  We shall get home by six."

"But I'm hungry now.  I shall have to shoot something to eat.  I say,
Scood, why shouldn't I shoot you?"

"Don't know," said Scoodrach, grinning.

"Wonder whether you'd be tough."

"Wait and eat him," said Scood, grinning.

"Eat whom?"

"The London laddie."

Kenneth, in his idle, drowsy fit, had almost forgotten the visitor, and
he roused up now, and gazed earnestly at the approaching cloud of smoke,
for the steamer was quite invisible.

"It is the _Grenadier_," said Kenneth; "and she's bringing the wind with
her."

"Shouldn't say _she_," muttered Scood.

"Yes, I should, stupid.  Ships are shes."

"Said you'd kick me if I said `she,'" muttered Scood.

"So I will if you call me `she.'  I'm not a ship.  Hurrah!  Here's the
wind at last."

For the mainsail began to shiver slightly, and the glassy water to send
forth scintillations instead of one broad silvery gleam.

Kenneth seized the tiller, and the next minute they were gliding through
the water, trying how near the duck-shaped boat would sail to the wind.

For the next half-hour they were tacking to and fro right in the course
of the coming steamer, till, judging their distance pretty well, sail
was lowered, oars put out, and they rowed till the faces which crowded
the forward part of the swift boat were plain to see.  Soon after, while
the cloud of smoke seemed to have become ten times more black, and the
cloud of gulls which accompanied the steamer by contrast more white, the
paddles ceased churning up the clear water and sending it astern in
foam, a couple of men in blue jerseys stood ready to throw a rope, which
Scood caught, and turned round the thwart forward, and Kenneth stood up,
gazing eagerly at the little crowd by the paddle-box.

"How are you, captain?"

"How are you, squire?"

"Any one for us?"

"Yes.  Young gent for Dunroe," said a man with a gold-braided cap.

"Where is he?"

"Here just now.  Here's his luggage," said one of the men in blue
jerseys.  "There he is."

"Now then, sir!  Look alive, please."

"But--"

"This way, sir."

"Must I--must I get down?--that small boat!"

Kenneth stared at the pallid-looking youth, who stood shrinking back,
almost in wonder, as the visitor clung to the gangway rail, and gazed in
horror at the boat dancing in the foaming water.

"Ketch hold."

"All right."

There was the rapid passing down of luggage--portmanteau, hat-box, bag,
gun-case, sheaf of fishing-rods, and bale of wrappers; and, as Scood
secured these, Kenneth held out his hand.

"Come along," he said.  "It's all right."

"But--"

"Look sharp, sir, please; we can't stop all day."

Evidently in an agony of dread and shame, the stranger stepped down into
the boat, staggered, clung to Kenneth, and, as he was forced down to a
seat, clung to it with all his might.  Scood cast off the rope; the
captain on the bridge made his bell ting in the engine-room, a burst of
foam came rushing from beneath the paddle-box, the little boat danced up
and down, the great steamer glided rapidly on, and Kenneth and Scoodrach
gazed in an amused way at the new occupant of the boat.

"We've been waiting for you--hours," said Kenneth at last.  "How are
you?"

"I'm quite well, thank--I mean, I'm not at all well, thank you," said
the visitor, shaking hands limply, and then turning to look at Scood, as
if wondering whether he should shake hands there.

"That's only Scood, my gillie," said Kenneth hastily.  "Did we get all
your luggage?"

"I--I don't know," said the visitor in a helpless way.  "I hope so.  At
least, I don't mind.  It has been such a rough passage!"

"Rough?" shouted Kenneth.

"Yes; terribly.  The steamer went up and down so.  I felt very ill."

"Been beautiful here.  Now, Scood, don't sit staring there.  Shove some
of those things forward and some aft."

Scood jumped up, the boat gave a lurch, and the visitor uttered a gasp.

"Mind!" he cried.

"Oh, he's all right," said Kenneth bluffly.  "When he has no shoes on he
can hold by his toes.  Come and sit aft."

"No, thank you; I would rather not move.  I did not know it would be so
rough at sea, or I would have come by train."

"Train!  You couldn't come to Dunroe by train."

"Couldn't I?"

"No."

"Oh!--Are you Mr Kenneth Mackhai?"

"I'm Kenneth Mackhai," said the lad rather stiffly.  "My father asked me
to come and meet you--and, er--we're very glad to see you."

"Thank you.  It was very kind of you; but I am not used to the sea, and
I should have preferred landing at the pier and coming on in a cab or a
fly."

"Pier!  There's no pier near us."

"No pier?  But never mind.  You are very good.  Would you mind setting
me ashore now?"

"Ashore!  What for?"

"To--to go on to the house.  I would rather walk."

Kenneth laughed, and then checked himself.

"It's ten miles' sail from here home, and it would be twenty round by
the mountain-road.  We always go by boat."

"By boat?  In this boat?" faltered the visitor.

"Yes.  She skims along like a bird."

"Then--I couldn't--walk?"

"Walk?  No.  We'll soon run you home.  Sorry it was so rough.  But
there's a lovely wind now.  Come aft here, and we'll hoist the sail.
That's right, Scood.  Now there's room to move."

"Could--could you call back the steamer?" said the stranger hoarsely.

"Call her back?  No; she's a mile away nearly.  Look!"

The visitor gave a despairing stare at the steamer, and the wake of foam
she had left behind.

"You will be all right directly," said Kenneth, suppressing his mirth.
"You're not used to the sea?"

"No."

"We are.  There, give me your hand.  You sit there aft and hold the
tiller, while I help Scood run up the sails."

"Thank you, I'm much obliged.  But if you could set me ashore."

"It's three miles away," said Kenneth, glancing at the mainland.

"No, no; I mean there."

"There?  That's only a rocky island with a few sheep on it.  And there's
such a wild race there, it's dangerous at this time of the tide."

"Are they savages?"

"Savages?"

"Yes; the wild race."

"Poof!"

"Be quiet, Scood, or I'll chuck you overboard.  What are you laughing
at?  I mean race of the tide.  Look, you can see the whirlpools.  It's
the Atlantic rushing in among the rocks.  Now then, come along."

The visitor would not rise to his feet, but crept over to the after part
of the boat, where he crouched more than sat, starting violently as the
light craft swayed with the movements of its occupants, and began to
dance as well with the rising sea.

"I'm afraid you think I'm a terrible coward."

"That's just what I do think," said Kenneth to himself; but he turned
round with a look of good-humoured contempt.  "Oh no," he said aloud;
"you'll soon get used to it.  Now, Scood, heave ahoy.  Look here, we
can't help it.  If you laugh out at him, I'll smash you."

"But look at him," whispered Scood.

"I daren't, Scood.  Heave ahoy!"

"Take care!  Mind!" cried the visitor in agony.

"What's the matter?"

"I--I thought--Pray don't do that!"

Kenneth could not refrain from joining in Scood's mirth, but he checked
himself directly, and gave the lad a punch in the ribs, as he hauled at
the mainsail.

"You'll have the boat over!" cried the shivering guest, white now with
agony, as the sail filled and the boat careened, and began to rush
through the water.

"Take more than that to send her over," cried Kenneth merrily, as he
took the tiller.  "Plenty of wind now, Scood."

Scoodrach laughed, and their passenger clung more tightly to his seat.

For the wind was rising to a good stiff breeze, the waves were beginning
to show little caps of foam, and to the new-comer it seemed utter
madness to be seated in such a frail cockle-shell, which kept on lying
over from the pressure on the sail, and riding across the waves which
hissed and rushed along the sides, and now and then sent a few drops
flying over the sail.

"You'll soon get used to it," cried Kenneth, who felt disposed at first
to be commiserating and ready to pity his guest; but the abject state of
dread displayed roused the spirit of mischief latent in the lad, and,
after a glance or two at Scoodrach, he felt compelled to enjoy his
companion's misery.

"Is--is there any danger?" faltered the poor fellow at last, as the boat
seemed to fly through the water.

"No, not much.  Unless she goes down, eh, Scood?"

"Oh, she shall not go down chust direckly," said Scoodrach seriously.
"She's a prave poat to sail."

"What's the matter?" cried Kenneth, as his passenger looked wildly
round.

"Have you--a basin on board?" he faltered.

This was too much for the others.  Scoodrach burst into a roar of
laughter, in which Kenneth joined for a minute, and then, checking
himself, he apologised.

"Nonsense!" he said; "you keep a stout heart.  You'll like it directly.
Got a line, Scood?"

"Yes; twa."

"Bait 'em and throw 'em out; we may get a mackerel or two."

"They've got spinners on them," said the lad sententiously, as he opened
a locker in the bows, and took out a couple of reels.

"Don't--go quite so fast," said the visitor imploringly.

"Why not?  It's safer like this--eh, Scood?"

"Oh yes; she's much safer going fast."

"But the waves!  They'll be in the boat directly."

"Won't give 'em time to get in--will we, Scood?  Haul in that sheet a
little tighter."

This was done, and the boat literally rushed through the water.

"There, you're better already, aren't you?"

"I--I don't know."

"Oh, but I do.  You'll want to have plenty of sails like this."

"In the young master's poat," said Scoodrach, watching the stranger with
eyes which sparkled with mischief.  "Wouldn't the young chentleman like
to see the Grey Mare's Tail?"

"Ah, to be sure!" cried Kenneth; "you'd like to see that."

"Is--is the grey mare ashore?" faltered the visitor.

"Yes, just round that point--a mile ahead."

"Yes, please--I should like to see that," said the guest, with a sigh of
relief, for he seemed to see safety in being nearer the shore.

"All right!  We'll run for it," cried Kenneth; and he slightly altered
the boat's course, so as to draw a little nearer to the land.  "Wind's
getting up beautifully."

"Getting up?"

"Yes.  Blow quite a little gale to-night, I'll be bound."

"Is--is there any danger?"

"Oh, I don't know.  We get a wreck sometimes--don't we, Scood?"

"Oh ay, very fine wrecks sometimes, and plenty of people trowned!"

"You mean wrecks of ships?"

"Yes; and boats too, like this--eh, Scood?"

"Oh yes; poats like this are often wrecked, and go to the pottom," said
Scood maliciously.

There was a dead silence in the boat, during which Kenneth and Scood
exchanged glances, and their tired companion clutched the seat more
tightly.

"I say, your name's Blande, isn't it?" said Kenneth suddenly.

"Yes; Maximilian--I mean Max Blande."

"And you are going to stay with us?"

"I suppose so."

The lad gave his tormentor a wistful look, but it had no effect.

"Long?"

"I don't know.  My father said I was to come down here.  Is it much
farther on?"

"Oh yes, miles and miles yet.  We shall soon show you the Grey Mare's
Tail now."

"Couldn't we walk the rest of the way, then?"

"Walk!  No.  Could we, Scood?"

"No, we couldn't walk," said the lad addressed; "and who'd want to walk
when we've got such a peautiful poat?"

There was another silence, during which the boat rushed on, with Kenneth
trickily steering so as to make their way as rough as possible, both
boys finding intense enjoyment in seeing the pallid, frightened looks of
their guest, and noting the spasmodic starts he gave whenever a little
wave came with a slap against the bows and sprinkled them.

"I say, who's your father?" said Kenneth suddenly.

"Mr Blande of Lincoln's Inn.  You are Mr Mackhai's son, are you not?"

"I am The Mackhai's son," cried Kenneth, drawing himself up stiffly.

"Yes; there's no Mr Mackhai here," cried Scoodrach fiercely.  "She's
the Chief."

"She isn't, Scood.  Oh, what an old dummy you are!"

"Well, so she is the chief."

"So she is!  Ah, you!  Look here, you, Max Blande: my father's the Chief
of the Clan Mackhai."

"Is he?  Is it much further, to the grey mare's stable?" faltered the
passenger.

The two boys roared with laughter, Max gazing from one to the other
rather pitifully.

"Did I say something very stupid?" he asked mildly.

"Yes, you said stable," cried Kenneth, wiping his eyes.  "I say, Scood,
wait till he sees the Grey Mare."

"Yes; wait till she sees the Grey Mare," cried Scood, bending double
with mirth.

Max drew in a long breath, and gazed straight before him at the sea, and
then to right and left of the fiord through which they were rapidly
sailing.  He saw the shore some three miles away on their left, and a
couple to their right, a distance which they were reducing, as the boat,
with the wind well astern, rushed on.

"It's too bad to laugh at you," said Kenneth, smoothing the wrinkles out
of his face.

"I don't know what I said to make you laugh," replied Max, with a
piteous look.

"Then wait till you see the Grey Mare's Tail, and you will."

"I don't think I want to see it.  I would rather you set me ashore, and
let me walk."

"Didn't I tell you that you couldn't walk home?  Besides, every one goes
to see the Grey Mare's Tail--eh, Scood?"

There was a nod and a mirthful look which troubled the visitor, who sat
with his face contracted, and a spasm seeming to run through him every
time the boat made a leap and dive over some wave.

They were running rapidly now toward a huge mass of rock, which ran
gloomy looking and forbidding into the sea, evidently forming one of the
points of a bay beyond.  The mountains came here very close to the sea,
and it was as if by some convulsion of nature the great buttress had
been broken short off, leaving a perpendicular face of rock, along whose
narrow ledges grey and black birds were sitting in scores.

"See the birds?" cried Kenneth, as they sped on rapidly, Max gaining a
little confidence as he found that the boat did not go right over from
the pressure of the wind on the sail.

"Are those birds?" he said.

"Yes; gulls and cormorants and puffins.  Did you feed Macbrayne's
pigeons as you came along?"

"No," said Max quietly; "I did not see them."

"Oh, come, I know better than that.  Didn't you come up Loch Fyne in the
Columba?"

"The great steamer?  Yes."

"Well, didn't you see a large flock of grey gulls flying with you all
the way?"

"Oh yes, and some people threw biscuits to them.  They were like a great
grey and white cloud."

"Well, I call them Macbrayne's pigeons."

"Are we going ashore here?" said Max eagerly, as they neared the point,
about which the swift tide foamed and leaped furiously, the waves
causing a deep, low roar to rise as they fretted among the tumbled chaos
of rocks.

"I hope not.  Eh, Scood?"

"Hope not!  Why?"

"Because the sea would knock the boat to pieces.  That's all."

"Hah!"

Max drew his breath with a low hiss, and gazed sharply from Kenneth to
the foaming water they were approaching so swiftly, and now, with the
little knowledge he had gained, the lowering mass of rock began to look
terribly forbidding, and the birds which flew shrieking away seemed to
be uttering cries of warning.

"Hadn't you better pull the left rein--I mean steer away, if it's so
dangerous?"

"No; I'm going in between those two rocks, close in.  Plenty of water
now, isn't there, Scood?"

"Not plenty; enough to clear the rock," was the reply.

"Sit fast, and you'll see what a rush through we shall go.  Hold tight."

Max set his teeth, and his eyes showed a complete circle of white about
the iris as the boat careened over, and, feeling now the current which
raced foaming around the point, he had a strange catching of the breath,
while his hands clung spasmodically to the thwart and side.

The huge mass of frowning rock seemed to be coming to meet them; the
grey-winged birds flew hither and thither; the water, that had been dark
blue flecked with white, suddenly became one wild race of foam, such as
he had seen behind the paddle-boxes of the steamers during his run up
from Glasgow.  There was the perpendicular wall on his right, and a
cluster of black crags on his left, and toward these the boat was
rushing at what seemed to him a terrific rate.  It was like running
wildly to their death; but Kenneth was seated calmly holding the tiller,
and Scood half lay back, letting one hand hang over and splash amongst
the foam.

Hiss, roar, rush, and a spray of spattering drops of the beaten waves
splashed over them as they raced on, passing through the opening at a
rate which made Max Blande feel dizzy.  Then, just as the boat careened
over till the bellying sail almost touched the low crags on their left,
it made quite a leap, rose upright, the pressure on the sail ceased, the
rush of wind seemed to be suddenly cut off, and they were gliding
rapidly along in an almost waveless bay, with a deep, loud, thunderous
roar booming into their ears.

"What do you think of that?" cried Kenneth, laughing in his guest's
astonished face.

"I--I don't know.  Is anything broken?"

"Broken?  No.  We're under the shelter of the great point."

"Oh, I see.  But what's that noise?  Thunder?"

"Thunder?  No.  That's the Grey Mare wagging her tail."

"Poof!"

Scood exploded again.

"You are laughing at me," said Max quietly.  "I can't help being so
ignorant."

"Never mind, we'll show you.  I say, Scood, there's wind enough to carry
us by if we go close in."

"No, there isn't; keep out."

"Shan't.  Get out the oars and help!"

"Best keep out," grumbled Scood.

"You get out the oars--do you hear?"

Scood frowned, and slowly laid out the oars, as he took his place on the
forward thwart, after a glance at the sail, which barely filled now.

"She aren't safe to go near," he said sulkily.

"Does she kick?" said Max eagerly.

Kenneth burst into a fresh roar of laughter.

"Oh yes, sometimes," he said, "right into the boat."

Scood sat with the oars balanced, and a grim smile upon his countenance,
while Max looked sharply from one to the other, and, seeing that there
was something he did not grasp, he sat watchful and silent, while the
boat, in the full current which swept round the bay, glided rapidly out
toward the farther point, from behind which the thunderous roar seemed
to come.

In another minute they were close to the point, round which the tide
flowed still and deep, and directly after Max held his breath, as the
boat glided on, with the sail flapping, towards where in one wild leap a
torrent of white water came clear out from a hundred feet above, to
plunge sullenly into the sea.

"That's the Grey Mare's Tail," cried Kenneth, raising his voice so as to
be heard above the heavy roar; and the fall bore no slight resemblance
to the long white sweeping appendage of some gigantic beast, reaching
from the face of the precipice to the sea.

Max felt awe-stricken, for, saving on canvas, he had never seen anything
of the kind before.  It was grand, beautiful, and thrilling to see the
white water coming foaming down, and seeming to make the sea boil; but
the perspiration came out on the lad's brow as he realised the meaning
of what had passed, and understood Scood's remonstrances, for it was
evident that the boat was drawing rapidly toward the fall, and that in
the shelter of the tremendous cliff there was not sufficient wind to
counteract the set of the current.

Scood gave one glance over his shoulder, and began to row hard, while
for a moment Kenneth laughed; but directly after he realised that there
was danger, and, leaving the tiller, he stepped forward, sat down
hastily, and caught the oar Scood passed to him.

A minute of intense anxiety passed, during which the two lads rowed with
all their might.  But, in spite of their efforts, the boat glided nearer
and nearer to the falling water, and it seemed but a matter of moments
before they would be drawn right up to where the cataract came
thundering down.

"Pull, Scood!" shouted Kenneth.  "Pull!"

Scoodrach did not reply, but dragged at his oar, and for a few moments
they made way; then surely and steadily the boat glided toward the fall,
having to deal with the tide and the natural set of the surface toward
the spot where the torrent poured in.

Max Blande grasped all now, and, ignorant of such matters as he was, he
could still realise that from foolhardiness his companion had run the
boat into a terrible danger beyond his strength to counteract.

There it was, plain enough: if they could not battle with the steady,
insidious current which was slowly bearing them along, in another minute
the torrent would fill the boat and plunge them down into the chaos of
foaming water, from which escape would be impossible.

"Quick! here!" cried Kenneth in a shrill voice, heard above the deep
humming roar of the fall.  "Push--push!"

For a few moments Max could not grasp his meaning, but, when he did, he
placed his hands against the oar, and thrust at each stroke with all his
might.

For a few moments the extra strength seemed to tell, but Max's help was
weak, and not enough to counteract the failing efforts of the two lads,
who in their excitement rowed short, and without the steady strain
wanted in such a time of peril.

"It's no good," cried Scood hoarsely.  "She'll go town, and we must
swim."

His voice rang out shrilly in the din of the torrent, but he did not
cease pulling, for Kenneth shouted back,--

"Pull--pull!  Will you pull?"  He bent to his oar as he spoke, and once
more they seemed to make a little way, but only for a few moments; and,
as Max Blande looked up over his shoulder, it seemed to him that the
great white curve was right above him, and even as he looked quite a
shower of foam came spattering down into the boat.



CHAPTER FOUR.

WELCOME TO DUNROE.

A cry of horror rose to Max Blande's lips, but there it seemed to be
frozen, and he knelt, with starting eyes, crouched together, and gazing
up at the falling water.  Stunned by the roar, too helpless to lend the
slightest aid to the rowers, he felt that in another moment they would
be right beneath, when the boat suddenly careened over, struck by the
sharp puff of wind which seemed to come tearing down the ravine from
which the torrent issued, and in a few moments they were fifty feet
away, and running rapidly toward the mouth of the bay.

The first thing Max Blande realised was that he had been knocked over
into the bottom of the boat by Kenneth, who had sprung to the rudder,
and the next that he had been trampled on by Scood, who had seized the
sheet, and held on to trim the sail.

Max got up slowly, and shivered as he glanced at the great fall and then
at his companions, who, now that the danger was past, made light of it,
and burst into a hearty laugh at his expense.

"Are we out of danger?" he faltered.

"Out of danger!  Yes, of course; wasn't any," replied Kenneth.  "Had the
boat full; that's all.  You said you could swim, didn't you?"

Max shook his head.

"Ah, well, it don't matter now!  Scood and I can soon teach you that."

"If she couldn't swim she'd ha' been trowned," said Scood oracularly,
"for we should have had enough to do to get ashore."

"Hold your tongue, Scood; and will you leave off calling people she?"

"Where would the boat have come up?" continued Scood.

"Bother! never mind that.  There's plenty of wind now, and we'll soon
race home."

"But we were in great danger, weren't we?"

"N-n-no," said Kenneth cavalierly.  "It would have been awkward if the
boat had filled, but it didn't fill.  If you come to that, we're in
danger now."

"Danger now!" cried Max, clutching the side again.

"Yes, of course.  If the boat was to sink, I daresay it's two hundred
feet deep here."

"Oh!"

"But that's nothing.  We'll take you up Loch Doy.  It's seven hundred
and fifty feet up there, and the water looks quite black.  Ha, ha, ha!"
laughed Kenneth; "and the thought of it makes you look quite white."

"It seems so horrible."

"Not a bit.  Why should it?" cried Kenneth.  "It's just as dangerous to
sail in seven feet of water as in seven hundred."

"Mind tat rock," said Scoodrach.

"Well, I am minding it," said Kenneth carelessly, as, with the wind
coming now in a good steady breeze, consequent upon their being out of
the shelter of the point, he steered so that they ran within a few feet
of where the waves creamed over a detached mass of rock.

Max was gazing back at the cascade, whose aspect from where they were
well warranted the familiar name by which it was known.  He could,
however, see no beauty in the wild leap taken by the stream, and he drew
a sigh of relief as they glided by the next point, and the fall passed
from his view, while the thunderous roar died away.

"There!" cried Kenneth; "that will be something for you to talk about
when you go back.  You don't have falls like that in town."

"She'd petter not talk about it," said Scood.  "If the Chief knows we
took the poat so near, she'll never let us go out in her again."

"Oh, I don't know," said Kenneth.  "It was pretty near, though.  I say,
don't say anything to my father.  Scood's afraid he'd be horsewhipped."

"Nay, it's the young master is afraid," retorted Scood.

"You say I'm afraid, Scood, and I'll knock you in the water!"

Scood grinned, and began to slacken the sheet, for the wind kept coming
in sharper puffs, and at every blast the boat heeled over to such an
extent that Max felt certain that they must fill.

"You haul in that sheet, Scood, and let's get all we can out of her."

"Nay, nay, laddie, she won't bear any more.  We ought to shorten ta
sail."

"No," cried Kenneth; "I want to see how soon we can get home.  Why, it's
ever so much past six now.  We shan't be back till late.  Don't want to
see the Black Cavern, do you, to-night?"

"Oh no!" cried Max eagerly.

"We could row right in ever so far with the tide like this."

Max shuddered.  It was bad enough in the open sea; the idea of rowing
into a black cavern after what he had gone through horrified him.

"All right, then.  Make that sheet fast, Scood, and trim the boat.  I'll
make her skim this time."

"No," said Scood decisively.  "Too much wind.  She'll hold ta sheet."

"You do as I tell you, or I'll pitch you overboard."

Scood looked vicious, but said nothing, only seated himself to windward,
so as to counterbalance the pressure, and held on by the sheet.

"Did you hear what I said?"

Scood nodded.

"Then make that sheet fast."

Scood shook his head.

"Will you make that sheet fast?"

"Too much wind."

Kenneth left the tiller and literally leaped on to Scood, and, to the
horror of Max, there was a desperate wrestle, during which he was in
momentary expectation of seeing both pitch over into the sea.  The boat
rocked, the sail flapped, and a wave came with a slap against the side,
and splashed the luggage in the bottom, before Scood yielded, and sat
down on the forward thwart.

"I don't care," he said.  "I can swim as long as I like."

"I'll make you swim if you don't mind," said Kenneth, seizing the rope
and making it fast.

"She'll go over, and you'll trown the chentleman!" cried Scood.

"He won't mind!" cried Kenneth, settling himself in the stern and
seizing the tiller; when Max gave vent to a gasp, for the boat seemed to
be going over, so great was the pressure on the bellying sails, but she
rose again, and made quite a leap as she skimmed through the waves.

"That's the way to make her move," cried Kenneth triumphantly.  "Think I
don't know how to manage a boat, you red-headed old tyke?"

"Ah, chust wait till a squall comes out of one of the glens, Master Ken,
and you'll see."

"Tchah!  Don't you take any notice of him.  He's an old grey corbie.
Croak, croak, croak!  Afraid of getting a ducking.  You sit still and
hold tight, and I'll run you up to Dunroe in no time."

Max said nothing, but sat there in speechless terror, as, out of sheer
obstinacy, and partly out of a desire to scare his new companion,
Kenneth kept the sheet fast--the most reprehensible act of which a
boatman can be guilty in a mountain loch--and the boat under far more
pressure of sail than she ought to have borne.

The result was that they literally raced through the gleaming water,
which was now being lit up by the setting sun, that turned the sides of
the hills into so much transparent glory of orange, purple, and gold,
while the sea gleamed and flashed and danced as if covered with leaping
tongues of fire.

It was a wondrous evening, but Max Blande, as he clung there, could only
see a boat caught by a sudden gust, and sinking, while it left them
struggling in the restless sea.

Over and over again, as they rushed on, the bows were within an ace of
diving into some wave, and the keel must often have shown, but by a
dexterous turn of the tiller Kenneth avoided the danger just at the nick
of time, and nothing worse happened than the leaping in of some spray,
Scood silently sopping the gathering water with a large sponge, which he
kept on wringing over the side.

"There's a puff coming," cried Scood, suddenly looking west.

"Let it come.  We don't mind, do we?"

Max's lips moved, but he said nothing.

"I don't care, then," said Scood, pushing off his shoes, and then
setting to work to rid himself of his coarse grey socks, as if he were
skinning his lower extremities, after which he grumpily began to load
his shoes as if they were mortars, by ramming a rolled-up-ball-like sock
in each.

"Nobody wants you to care, Rufus," cried Kenneth.

"My fathers were once chiefs like yours," continued Scood, amusing
himself by sopping up the water and squeezing the sponge with his toes.

"Get out!  Old Coolin Cumstie never had a castle.  He only lived in a
bothy."

"And she can tie like a mans.  It's a coot death to trown."

Scood was getting excited, and when in that state his dialect became
broader.

"Only you'll get precious wet, Scoodie," cried Kenneth mockingly.
"Never mind; I shall swim home, and I'll look out for you when you're
washed ashore, and well hang you up to dry."

"Nay, I shall hae to hang you oop," cried Scood.  "D'ye mind!  Look at
the watter coming in!"

"Then sop the watter up," cried Kenneth mockingly, as a few gallons
began to swirl about in the boat.

"Is--is it much farther?"

"No, not much.  Can you see the North Pole yet, Scood?"

Max looked bewildered.

"No, she can't see no North Poles," muttered Scood, as he diligently
dried the boat.

"Never mind; I can steer home without," laughed Kenneth.  "There we are.
You can see Dunroe now."

They were just rounding a great grey bluff of rock, and he pointed to
the old castle, as it stood up, ruddy and warm, lit by the western glow.

"I--I can't see it.  Is it amongst those trees?"

"No, no.  That's Dunroe--the castle."

"Oh!" said Max; and he sat there in silence, gazing at the old ruin, as
they rapidly drew nearer, Kenneth, after giving Scood a laughing look,
steering so as to keep the boat direct for the ancient stronghold, with
its open windows, crumbling battlements and yawning gateway, which acted
as a screen to the comfortable modern residence behind.

The visitor's heart sank at the forbidding aspect of the place.  He was
faint for want of food, weary and low-spirited from the frights he had
had, and, in place of finding his destination some handsome mansion
where there would be a warm welcome, it seemed to him that he had come
to a savage dungeon-like place, on the very extreme of the earth, where
all looked desolate and forlorn among the ruins, and the sea was beating
at the foot of the rocks on which they stood.

In an ordinary way Kenneth would have run the skiff past the castle and
round behind into the little land-locked bay, where his visitor could
have stepped ashore in still water.  But, as he afterwards told Scood,
there would have been no fun in that.  So he steered in among the rocks
where the castle front faced the sea, and, after the sail had been
lowered, he manipulated the boat till they were rising and falling in
the uneasy tide, close alongside of a bundled-together heap of huge
granite rocks, where he leapt ashore.

"Now then!" he cried; "give me your hand."  It was a simple thing to do,
that leaping on to the rock.  All that was necessary was to jump out as
the wave receded and left a great flat stone bare; but Max Blande look
the wrong time, and stepped, as the wave returned, knee-deep among the
slippery golden fucus, and, but for Kenneth's hand, he would have
slipped and gone headlong into the deep water at the side.

There was a drag, a scramble, and, with his arm feeling as if it had
been jerked out of the socket, Max stood dripping on the dry rocks
beneath the castle, and Kenneth shouted to Scood,--

"Get your father to help you bring in those things, and make her fast,
Scood."

"Ou ay," was the reply; and Kenneth led the way toward the yawning old
gateway.

"Come along," he said.  "It's only salt water, and will not give you
cold.  This is where the fellows used to come to attack the castle, and
get knocked on the head.  Nice old place, isn't it?"

"Yes, very," said Max breathlessly, as he clambered the difficult ascent
his companion had chosen.

"See that owl fly out?  Look! there goes a heron across there--there
over the sea.  Oh, you haven't got your seaside eyes yet."

"No; I couldn't see it.  But do you live here?"

"To be sure we do, along with the jackdaws and ghosts."

"Ghosts?"

"Oh yes, we've three ghosts here.  One lives in the old turret chamber;
one in the south dungeon; and one in the guardroom over the south gate.
This is the north gateway."

Max shivered from cold and excitement, and then shrank close to his
companion, for the dogs suddenly charged into the place, the hollow
walls of the gloomy quadrangle echoing their baying, as all three,
according to their means of speed, made at the stranger.

"Down, Bruce!  Dirk, be off!  You, Sneeshing, I'll pitch you out of that
window!  It's all right, Mr Blande; they won't hurt you."

Max did not seem reassured, even though the barking dwindled into low
growls, and then into a series of snufflings, as the dogs followed
behind, sniffing at the visitor's heels.

"Do you really live here?" said Max, glancing up at the roofless
buildings.

"Live here? of course," replied Kenneth; "but we don't eat and sleep in
this part.  We do that sort of thing out here."

As he spoke, he led his companion through the farther gateway, along the
groined crypt-like connecting passage, and at once into the handsome
hall of the modern part, where a feeling of warmth and comfort seemed to
strike upon Max Blande, as his eyes caught the trophies of arms and the
chase, ranged between the stained glass windows, and his wet feet
pressed the rugs and skins laid about the polished floor.

Kenneth noted the change, and, feeling as if it were time to do
something to make his guest welcome, he said,--

"We won't go in yet.  Your wet feet won't hurt, and the dinner-gong
won't go for an hour yet.  I'll take you round the place, and up in the
old tower.  Can you climb?"

"Climb?  Oh no.  Not trees."

"I meant the old staircase.  'Tisn't very dangerous.  But never mind
now.  We'll go to-morrow.  Come along."

Max thought it was to his room.  But nothing was farther from Kenneth's
thoughts, as he started off at a sharp walk about the precincts of the
old place, talking rapidly the while.

"Why, the sea's all round us!" exclaimed Max, after they had been
walking, or rather climbing and descending the rocky paths of the
promontory on which the castle was built.

"To be sure it is, now.  When the tide's down you can hop across the
rocks there to the mainland.  You don't live in a place like this?"

"We live in Russell Square, my father and I."

"That's in London, isn't it?  I've never been to town, and I don't want
to go."

"But isn't this very inconvenient?  You are so far from the rail."

"Yes, thank goodness!"

Max stared.

"But you can't get a cab."

"Oh yes, you can--in Edinburgh and Glasgow."

"Then you keep a carriage?"

"Yes; you came in it--the boat," said Kenneth, laughing.  "We used to
have a large yacht, but father gave it up last year.  He said he
couldn't afford it now on account of the confounded lawyers."

Max winced a little, and then said, with quiet dignity,--

"My father is a lawyer."

"Is he?  Beg pardon, then.  But your father isn't one of the confounded
lawyers, or else you wouldn't be here."

Kenneth laughed, and Max seemed more thoughtful.

"S'pose you think we're rather rough down here; but this is the
Highlands.  You'll soon get used to us.  There's no carriage, but we can
give you a mount on a capital pony.  Walter Scott would do for you."

"Is Walter Scott alive?  I've read all his stories."

"No, no; I mean our shaggy pony.  He's half Scotch, half Shetland, and
the rummest little beggar you ever saw.  He can climb and slide, and
jump like a grasshopper.  All you've got to do is to stick your knees
into him and hold on by the mane when he's going up so steep a place
that you begin to slip over his tail, and you're all right, only you
have to kick at his nose when he tries to bite."

Max looked aghast.

"Can you fish?"

"No."

"But you brought a lot of rods."

"Oh yes.  Father said I was to learn to fish and shoot while I was down
here, as some day I should be a Highland landlord."

"We can teach you all that sort of thing."

"Can you fish and shoot?"

"Can I?  I say, are you chaffing me?"

"No; I mean it."

"Well, just a little.  Let's see, I'm seventeen nearly, and I was only
six when my father made me fire off a gun first.  I've got a little one
in the gun-room that I used to use."

"And were you very young when you began to learn to fish?"

"I caught a little salmon when I was eight.  Father said the fish nearly
drowned me instead of me drowning the salmon.  But I caught him all the
same."

"How was that?"

"Oh, I tumbled in, I suppose, and rolled over in the stream.  Shon
pulled me out."

"Did he?"

"Yes; Scood's father.  He's one of our gillies.  Lives down there."

"By that pig-sty?"

"Pig-sty?  That isn't a pig-sty.  That's a bothy."

"Oh!" said Max, as he stared at a rough, whitewashed hovel, thatched,
and covered with hazel rods tied down to keep the thatch from blowing
off.

"There won't be time to-night after dinner, but I'll take you down to
Shon to-morrow.  We always call him Long Shon because he's so little,
and we pretend he's so fond of whisky.  Scood's a head taller than his
father."

"It will be all most interesting, I'm sure," said Max, whose feet felt
very wet and uncomfortable.

"I'll take you to see Tavish too," continued Kenneth, with a half-laugh
at his companion's didactic form of speech.  "Tavish is our forester."

"Forester?"

"Yes; and then I must introduce you to Donald Dhu."

"Is he a Scottish chief?"

"Well," said Kenneth, with a half laugh, "I daresay he thinks so.  Like
pipes?"

"Pipes?  No, I never tried them.  I once had a cigarette, but I didn't
like it."

"Oh, I say, you are comic!" said Kenneth, laughing heartily, and then
restraining himself.  "I meant the bagpipes.  Donald is our piper."

"Your piper!  How--"

Max was going to say horrible, as he recalled one of his pet
abominations, a dirty, kilted and plaided Scotchman, who made night
hideous about the Bloomsbury squares with his chanter and drone.

But he restrained himself, and, as Kenneth led the way here and there
about the little rocky knoll, he kept on talking.

"Donald has a place up in one of the towers--that one at the far corner.
He took to it to play in.  He composes dirges and things up there."

"But do you like having a piper?"

"Like it?  I don't know.  He has always been here.  He belongs to us.
There always was a piper to the Clan Mackhai.  There, you can see right
up the loch here, and that's where our salmon river empties itself over
those falls.  See that hill?"

"Yes."

"That's Ben Doy.  You'll like to climb up that.  It isn't one of the
highest, but it's four thousand, and jolly steep.  There's a loch right
up in it full of little trout."

Boom--boom--boom--boom.

"What's that?"

"That? why, the dinner-gong, of course.  Just time to have a wash first.
We don't dress down here.  That's what father always says to visitors
who bring bobtails and chokers.  Bring a bobtail with you?"

"I brought my dress suit."

"Then, if I were you, I would make it up into a parcel, and send it back
to London.  What's your name, did you say?"

"Maxi--Max Blande."

"To be sure!  Max Blande, Esquire, Russell Square, per Macbrayne and
Caledonian Railway; and we'll catch a salmon, or you shall, and send to
your father same time.  Come on; run.  Hi, dogs, then!  Bruce, boy!
Chevy, Dirk!  Come along, Sneeshing!  Oh, man, you can't half run!"

"No," said Max, panting heavily, and nearly falling over a projecting
piece of rock.

"I say, mind!  Why, if you fell there, you'd go right down into the sea,
and it would be salt water instead of soup."

Kenneth laughed heartily at his own remark as they ran on, to pause at
the steep slope up to the castle, where the dogs stopped short, as if
well drilled as to the boundaries they were to pass, while the two lads
once more crossed the gloomy ruined quadrangle and entered the house.



CHAPTER FIVE.

THE EFFECTS OF THE SAIL.

"Look sharp!  Father doesn't like to be kept waiting.  Don't stop to do
anything but change your wet things.  That's your room.  You can look
right away and see Mull one side and Skye the other."

Kenneth half pushed his visitor into a bed-room, banged the door, and
went off at a run, leaving Max Blande standing helpless and troubled
just inside, and heartily wishing he was at home in Russell Square.

Not that the place was uncomfortable, for it was well furnished, but he
was tired and faint for want of food; everything was strange; the wind
and sea were playing a mournful duet outside--an air in a natural key
which seemed at that moment more depressing than a midnight band or
organ in Bloomsbury on a foggy night.

But he had no time for thinking.  Expecting every moment to hear the
gong sound again, and in nervous dread of keeping his host waiting, he
hurriedly changed, and was a long way on towards ready when there was a
bang at the door.

"May I come in?" shouted Kenneth.  But he did not say it till he had
opened the door and was well inside.

"Oh, your hair will do," he continued.  "You should have had it cut
short.  It's better for bathing.  Old Donald cuts mine.  He shall do
yours.  No, no; don't stop to put your things straight.  Why, hallo!
what are you doing?"

"Only taking a little scent for my handkerchief."

"Oh my!  Why, you're not a girl!  Come along.  Father's so particular
about my being in at dinner.  He don't mind any other time."

Kenneth hurried his visitor down-stairs, and, as they reached the hall,
a sharp voice said,--

"Mr Blande, I suppose!  How do you do?  Well, Kenneth, did you have a
good run?  Nice day for a sail."

Max had not had time to speak, as the tall, aquiline-looking man, with
keen eyes and closely-cut blackish-grey hair, turned and walked on
before them into the dining-room.  The lad felt a kind of chill, as if
he had been repelled, and was not wanted; and there was a sharp, haughty
tone in his host's voice which the sensitive visitor interpreted to mean
dislike.

As he followed into the room, he had just time to note that, in spite of
his coldness, his host was a fine, handsome, _distingue_ man, and that
he looked uncommonly well in the grey kilt and dark velvet
shooting-jacket, which seemed to make him as picturesque in aspect as
one of the old portraits on the walls.

Max had also time to note that a very severe-looking man-servant in
black held open and closed the door after them, following him up, and,
as he took the place pointed out by Kenneth, nearly knocking him off his
balance by giving his chair a vicious thrust, with the result that he
sat down far too quickly.

"Amen!" said the host sharply, and in a frowning, absent way.

"I haven't said grace, father," exclaimed Kenneth.

"Eh! haven't you?  Ah, well, I thought you had.  What's the soup,
Grant?"

"Hotch-potch, sir," replied the butler.

"Confound hotch-potch!  Tell that woman not to send up any more till I
order it."

He threw himself back in the chair as the butler handed the declined
plate second-hand to the guest and then took another to Kenneth.

"'Taint bad when you're hungry," whispered the lad across the table.

Max glanced at his host with a shiver of dread, but The Mackhai was in
the act of pouring himself out a glass of sherry, which he tossed off,
and then in an abstracted way put on his glasses and began to read a
letter.

"It's all right.  He didn't hear," whispered Kenneth, setting a good
example, and finishing his soup before Max had half done, for there was
a novelty in the dinner which kept taking his attention from his food.

"Sherry to Mr Blande," said the host sharply; and the butler came back
from the sideboard, where he was busy, giving Max an ill-used look,
which said plainly,--

"Why can't he help himself?"

Then aloud,--

"Sherry, sir?"

"No, thank you."

The decanter stopper went back into the bottle with a loud click, the
decanter was thumped down, and the butler walked back past Kenneth's
chair.

"Hallo, Granty! waxey?" said Kenneth; but the butler did not condescend
to answer.

"Much sport, father?"

"Eh?  Yes, my boy.  Two good stags."

"I say, father, I wish I had been there."

"Eh?  Yes, I wish you had, Ken.  But you had your guest to welcome.  I
hope you had a pleasant run up from Glasgow."

"Pretty good," faltered Max, who became scarlet as he saw Kenneth's
laughing look.

"That's right," said the host.  "You must show Mr Blande all you can,
Ken," he continued, softening a little over the salmon.  "Sorry we have
no lobster sauce, Mr Blande.  This is not a lobster shore.  Make
Kenneth take you about well."

"I did show him the Grey Mare's Tail, father," said Kenneth, with a
merry look across the table.

"Ah yes! a very beautiful fall."

The dinner went on, but, though he was faint, Max did not make a hearty
meal, for, in addition to everything seeming so strange, and the manners
of his host certainly constrained, from time to time it seemed to the
visitor that all of a sudden the table, with its white cloth, glittering
glass and plate, began to rise up, taking him with it, and repeating the
movements of the steamer where they caught the Atlantic swell.  Then it
subsided, and, as a peculiar giddy feeling passed off, the table seemed
to move again; this time with a quick jerk, similar to that given by
Kenneth's boat.

Max set his teeth; a cold perspiration broke out upon his forehead, and
he held his knife and fork as if they were the handles to which he must
cling to save himself from falling.

He was suspended between two horrors, two ideas troubling him.  Would
his host see his state, and should he be obliged to leave the table?

And all the while the conversation went on between father and son, and
he had to reply to questions put to him.  Then, as the table rose and
heaved, and the room began to swing gently round, a fierce-looking eye
seemed to be glancing at him out of a mist, and he knew that the butler
was watching him in an angry, scornful manner that made him shrink.

He had some recollection afterwards of the dinner ending, and of their
going into a handsome drawing-room, where The Mackhai left them, as
Kenneth said, to go and smoke in his own room.  Then Max remembered
something about a game of chess, and then of starting up and oversetting
the table, with the pieces rattling on the floor.

"What--what--what's the matter?" he exclaimed as he clapped his hand to
his leg, which was tingling with pain.

"What's the matter? why, you were asleep again.  Never did see such a
sleepy fellow.  Here, let's go to bed."

"I beg your pardon; I'm very sorry, but I was travelling all last
night."

"Oh, I don't mind," said Kenneth, yawning.  "Come along."

"We must say good-night to your father."

"Oh no! he won't like to be disturbed.  He's in some trouble.  I think
it's about money he has been losing, and it makes him cross."

Kenneth led the way up-stairs, chattering away the while, and making all
manner of plans for the morning.

"Here you are," he cried.  "You'd like a bath in the morning?"

"Oh yes, I always have one."

"All right.  I'll call you."

As soon as he was alone, Max went to the window and opened it, to admit
the odour of the salt weed and the thud and rush of the water as it beat
against the foot of the castle and whispered amongst the crags.  The
moon was just setting, and shedding a lurid yellow light across the sea,
which heaved and gleamed, and threw up strange reflections from the
black masses of rock which stood up all round.

A curious shrinking sensation came over him as he gazed out; for down
below the weed-hung rocks seemed to be in motion, and strange monsters
appeared to be sporting in the darkness as the weed swayed here and
there with the water's wash.

He closed the window, after a long look round, and hurriedly undressed,
hoping that after a good night's rest the sensation of unreality would
pass off, and that he would feel more himself, but he had no sooner put
out the candle and plunged into bed than it seemed as if he were once
more at sea.  For the bed rose slowly and began to glide gently down an
inclined plane toward one corner of the room, sweeping out through the
wall, and then rising and giving quite a plunge once more.

It all seemed so real that Max started up in bed, and grasped the head,
and stared round.

It was all fancy.  The bed was quite still, and the only movement was
that of the waves outside as they beat upon the rocks.

He lay down once more, and, as his head touched the pillow, and he
closed his eyes, the bed heaved up once more, set sail, and he kept
gliding on and on and on.

This lasted for about an hour, and then, as the boat-like bed made one
of its slow, steady glides, down as it were into the depths of the sea,
it went down and down, lower and lower, till all was black and solemn
and still, and it was as if there was a restful end of all trouble, till
the stern struck with a tremendous thud upon a rock, and a hollow voice
exclaimed,--

"Now, old chap!  Six o'clock!  Ready for your bath?"



CHAPTER SIX.

A MORNING BATH.

"Yes!  Come in.  Thank you.  Eh?  I'll open the door.  And--Don't knock
so hard."

Confused and puzzled, Max started out of his deep sleep, with his head
aching, and the bewilderment increasing as he tried to make out where he
was, the memory of the past two days' events having left him.

"Don't hurry yourself.  It's all right.  Like to have another nap?" came
in bantering tones.

"I'll get up and dress as quickly as I can," cried Max, as he now
realised his position.  "But--but you said something about showing me
the bath."

"To be sure I did.  Look sharp.  I'll wait."

"Oh, thank you; I'll just slip on my dressing-gown."

"Nonsense!  You don't want a bathing-gown," cried Kenneth.  "Here! let
me in."

"Yes, directly," replied Max; and the next minute he went to the door,
where Kenneth was performing some kind of festive dance to the
accompaniment of a liberal drumming with his doubled fists upon the
panels.

"Ha! ha!" laughed the lad boisterously.  "You do look rum like that.
Slip on your outside, and come along."

"But--the bath-room?  I--"

"Bath-room!  What bath-room?"

"You said you would show me."

"Get out!  I never said anything about a bath-room.  I said a bath--a
swim--a dip in the sea.  Beats all the bath-rooms that were ever born."

"Oh!" ejaculated Max, who seemed struck almost dumb.

"Well, look sharp.  Scood's waiting.  He called me an hour ago, and I
dropped asleep again."

"Scood--waiting?"

"Yes; he's a splendid swimmer.  We'll soon teach you."

"But--"

"You're not afraid, are you?"

"Oh no--not at all.  But I--"

"Here, jump into your togs, old man, and haul your shrouds taut.  It's
glorious!  You're sure to like it after the first jump in.  It's just
what you want."

Max felt as if it was just what he did not want; but strong wills rule
weak, and he had a horror of being thought afraid, so that the result
was, he slipped on his clothes hastily, and followed his companion
down-stairs, and out on to the rock terrace, where a soft western breeze
came off the sea, which glittered in the morning sunshine.

He looked round for the threatening-looking black rocks which had seemed
so weird and strange the night before, and his eyes sought the uncouth
monsters with the tangled hair which seemed to rise out of the foaming
waters.  But, in place of these, there was the glorious sunshine,
brightening the grey granite, and making the yellowish-brown seaweed
shine like gold as it swayed here and there in the crystal-pure water.

"Why, you look ten pounds better than you did yesterday!" cried Kenneth;
and then, raising his voice, "Scood, ho!  Scood, hoy!" he shouted.

"Ahoy--ay!" came from somewhere below.

"It's all right!  He has gone down," cried Kenneth.  "Come along."

"Where are you going?" said Max hesitatingly.

"Going?  Down to our bathing-place; and, look here, as you are not used
to it, don't try to go out, for the tide runs pretty strong along here.
Scood and I can manage, because we know the bearings, and where the
eddies are, so as to get back.  Here we are."

He had led his companion to the very edge of the rock, where it
descended perpendicularly to the sea, and apparently there was no
farther progress to be made in that direction.  In fact, so dangerous
did it seem, that, as Kenneth quickly lowered himself over the
precipice, Max, by an involuntary movement, started forward and made a
clutch at his arm.

"Here! what are you doing?" cried Kenneth.  "It's all right.  Now then,
I'm here.  Lower yourself over.  Lay hold of that bit of stone.  I'll
guide your feet.  There's plenty of room here."

Max drew a long, catching breath, and his first thought was to run back
to the house.

"Make haste!" cried Kenneth from somewhere below; and Max went down on
his hands and knees to creep to the edge and look over, and see that the
rock projected over a broad shelf, upon which the young Scot was
standing looking up.

"Oh, I say, you are a rum chap!" cried Kenneth, laughing.  "Legs first,
same as I did; not your head."

"But is it safe--for me?"

"Safe?  Why, of course, unless you can pull the rock down on top of you.
Come along."

"I will do it!  I will do it!" muttered Max through his set teeth, as he
drew back, ghastly pale, and with a wild look in his eyes.  Then,
turning, and lowering his legs over the edge, he clung spasmodically to
a projection which offered its help.

"That's the way.  I've got you.  Let go."

For a few moments Max dared not let go.  He felt that if he did he
should fall headlong seventy or eighty feet into the rock-strewn sea;
but, as he hesitated, Kenneth gave him a jerk, his hold gave way, and
the next moment, in an agony of horror, he fell full twenty inches--on
his feet, and found himself upon the broad shelf, with the crag
projecting above his head and the glittering sea below.

"You'll come down here like a grasshopper next time," cried Kenneth.
"Now then, after me.  There's nothing to mind so long as you don't slip.
I'll show you."

He began to descend from shelf to shelf, where the rock had been blasted
away so as to form a flight of the roughest of rough steps of monstrous
size, while, trembling in every limb, Max followed.

"My grandfather had this done so that he could reach the cavern.  Before
that it was all like a wall here, and nobody could get up and down.
Why, you can climb as well as I can, only you pretend that you can't."

Max said nothing, but kept on cautiously descending till he stood upon a
broad patch of barnacle-crusted rock, beside what looked like a great
rough Gothic archway, forming the entrance to a cave whose floor was the
sea, but alongside which there was a rugged continuation of the great
stone upon which the lads stood.

"There, isn't this something like a bath?" cried Kenneth.  "It's
splendid, only you can't bathe when there's any sea."

"Why?" asked Max, so as to gain time.

"Why?  Because every wave that comes in swells over where we're
standing, and rushes right into the cave.  You wait and you'll hear it
boom like thunder."

_Plosh_!

"What's that?" cried Max, catching at his companion's arm.

"My seal!  You watch and you'll see him come out."

"Yes, I can see him," cried Max, "swimming under water.  A white one--
and--and--Why, it's that boy!"

"Ahoy!" cried a voice, as Scoodrach, who had undressed and dived in off
the shelf to swim out with a receding wave, rose to the surface and
shook the water from his curly red hair.

"Well, he can swim like a seal," cried Kenneth, running along the rough
shelf.  "Come along."

Max followed him cautiously, and with an uneasy sense of insecurity,
while by the time he was at the end his guide was undressed, with his
clothes lying in a heap just beyond the wash of the falling tide.

"Look sharp! jump in!" cried Kenneth.  "Keep inside here till you can
swim better."

As the words left his lips, he plunged into the crystal water, and Max
could follow his course as he swam beneath the surface, his white body
showing plainly against the dark rock, till he rose splashing and swam
out as if going right away.

But he altered his mind directly, and swam back toward the mouth of the
cave.

"Why, you haven't begun yet," he cried.  "Aren't you coming in?"

"Ye-es, directly," replied Max, but without making an effort to remove a
garment, till he caught sight of a derisive look upon Kenneth's face--a
look which made the hot blood flush up to his cheeks, and acted as such
a spur to his lagging energies, that in a very few minutes he was ready,
and, after satisfying himself that the water was not too deep, he
lowered himself slowly down, gasping as the cold, bracing wave reached
his chest, and as it were electrified him.

"You shouldn't get in like that," cried Kenneth, roaring with laughter.
"Head first and--"

Max did not hear the rest.  In his inexperience he did not realise the
facts that transparent water is often deeper than it looks, and that
seaweed under water is more slippery than ice.

One moment he was listening to Kenneth's mocking words; the next, his
feet, which were resting upon a piece of rock below, had glided off in
different directions, and he was beneath the surface, struggling wildly
till he rose, and then only to descend again as if in search of the
bottom of the great natural bath-house.

"Why, what a fellow you are!" was the next thing he heard, as Kenneth
held him up.  "There, you can touch bottom here.  That's right; stand
up.  Steady yourself by holding this bit of rock."

Half blind, choking with the harsh, strangling water which had gone
where nature only intended the passage of air, and with a hot, scalding
sensation in his nostrils, and the feeling as of a crick at the back of
his neck, Max clung tenaciously to the piece of rock, and stood with the
water up to his chin, sputtering loudly, and ending with a tremendous
sneeze.

"Bravo! that's better," cried Kenneth.  "No, no, don't get out.  You've
got over the worst of it now.  You ought to try and swim."

"No.  I must get out now.  Help me," panted Max.  "Was I nearly
drowned?"

"Hear that, Scood?" cried Kenneth.  "He says, was he nearly drowned?"

"I--I'm not used to it," panted Max.

"Needn't tell us that--need he, Scood?  No, no, don't get out."

"I--I must now.  I've had enough of it."

"No, you haven't," cried Kenneth, who was paddling near.  "Hold on by
the rock and kick out your legs.  Try to swim."

"Yes, next time.  I'm--"

"If you don't try I'll duck you," cried Kenneth.

"No, no, pray don't!  I--"

"If you try to get out, I'll pull you back by your legs.  Here, Scood,
come and help."

"Don't, pray don't touch me, and I'll stay," pleaded Max.

"Pray don't touch you!" cried Kenneth.  "Here, Scood, he has come down
here to learn to swim, and he's holding on like a girl at a Rothesay
bathing-machine.  Let's duck him."

Max uttered an imploring cry, but it was of no use.  Kenneth swam up,
and with a touch seemed to pluck him from his hold, and drew him out
into the middle of the place, while directly after, Scood, who seemed
more than ever like a seal, dived into the cave, and came up on Max's
other side.

"Join hands, Scood," cried Kenneth.

Scood passed his hand under Max, and Kenneth caught it, clasping it
beneath the struggling lad's chest.

"Now then, let's swim out with him."

"Ant let him swim back.  She'll soon learn," cried Scood.

"No, pray don't!  You'll drown me!" gasped Max, as he clung excitedly to
the hands beneath him; and then, to his horror, he felt himself borne
right out of the cave, into the sunshine, the two lads bearing him up
easily enough between them, till they were fully fifty yards away from
the mouth.

Partly from dread, partly from a return of nerve, Max had, during the
latter part of his novel ride through the bracing water, remained
perfectly silent and quiescent, but the next words that were spoken sent
a shock through him greater than the first chill of the water.

"Now then!" cried Scood.  "Let go!  She'll get back all alone, and learn
to swim."

"No, no, not this time," said Kenneth.  "We'll take him back now.  He'll
soon learn, now he finds how easy it is.  Turn round, Scood."

Scoodrach obeyed, and the swim was renewed, the two lads easily making
their way back to the mouth of the cave, up which they had about twenty
feet to go to reach the spot where the clothes were laid.

"Now," cried Kenneth, "you've got to learn to swim, so have your first
try."

"No, no; not this morning."

"Yes.  At once.  Strike out, and try to get in."

"But I can't.  I shall sink."

"No, you shan't; I won't let you.  Try."

There was no help for it.  Max was compelled to try, for the support was
suddenly withdrawn, and for the next few minutes the poor fellow was
struggling and panting blindly, till he felt his hand seized, and that
it was guided to the side, up which he was helped to scramble.

"There!" cried Kenneth.  "There's a big towel.  Have a good rub, and
you'll be all in a glow."

Max took the towel involuntarily, and breathlessly tried to remove the
great drops which clung to him, feeling, to his surprise, anything but
cold, and, by the time he was half dressed, that it was not such a
terrible ordeal he had passed through after all.

"She'll swim next time," said Scood, as he rubbed away at his fiery
head.

"No, she won't, Scoodie," said Kenneth mockingly; "but you soon will if
you try."

"Do you think so?" asked Max, who began now to feel ashamed of his
shrinking and nervousness.

"Of course I do.  Why, you weren't half so bad as some fellows are.
Remember Tom Macandrew, Scood?"

"Ou ay.  She always felt as if she'd like to trown that boy."

"Look sharp!" cried Kenneth, nearly dressed.  "Don't be too particular.
You'll soon get your hair dry."

"But it wants combing."

"Comb it when you get indoors.  Come away.  Let's have a run now, and
then there'll be time to polish up before breakfast.  You, Scood, we
shall go fishing this morning, so be ready.  Now then, Max,--I shall
call you Max,--you don't mind climbing up here again, do you?"

"Is there no other way?"

"Yes."

"Let's go, then."

"There are two other ways," said Kenneth: "to jump in and swim round to
the sands."

"Ah!"

"And for Scood and me to go up and fetch a rope and let it down.  Then
you'll sit in a loop, and we shall haul you up, while you spin round
like a roast fowl on a hook, and the bottle-jack up above going click."

"I think I can climb up," said Max, who was very sensitive to ridicule;
and he climbed, but with all the time a creepy sensation attacking him--
a feeling of being sure to fall over the side and plunge headlong into
the sea, while, at the last point, where the great stone projected a
little over the climbers' heads, the sensation seemed to culminate.

But Max set his teeth in determination not to show his abject fear, and
the next moment he was on the top, feeling as if he had gone through
more perils during the past eight-and-forty hours than he had ever
encountered in his life.

"Look out!" cried Kenneth suddenly.

"Why?  What?"

"It's only the dogs; and if Bruce leaps at you, he may knock you off the
cliff."

Almost as he spoke, the great staghound made a dash at Max, who avoided
the risk by leaping sideways, and getting as far as he could from the
unprotected brink.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

SHON AND TAVISH.

The hearty breakfast of salmon steaks, freshly-caught herrings,
oat-cakes, and coffee, sweetened by the seaside appetite, seemed to
place matters in a different light.  The adventure in the cave that
morning was rough, but Kenneth was merry and good-tempered, and ready to
assure his new companion that it was for his good.  Then, too, the
bright sunshine, the glorious blue of the sea, and the invigorating
nature of the air Max breathed, seemed to make everything look more
cheerful.

Before they took their places at the table, the stony look of the Scotch
butler was depressing; so was the curt, distant "Good morning, Mr
Blande," of The Mackhai, who hardly spoke afterwards till toward the end
of the meal, but read his newspaper and letters, leaving his son to
carry on the conversation.

"I say, Grant, aren't there any hot scones this morning?"

"No, sir," said the butler, in an ill-used whisper.

"Why not?"

"The cook says she can't do everything without assistance."

"Then she ought to get up earlier--a lazy old toad!  It was just as bad
when there was a kitchen-maid."

The butler looked more severe than ever, and left the room.

"He's always grumbling, Max--here, have some marmalade."

Max took a little of the golden preserve, and began to spread it on a
piece of bread.

"You are a fellow," said Kenneth mockingly; "that isn't the way to eat
marmalade.  Put a lot of butter on first."

"What, with jam?"

"Of course," said Kenneth, with a grin, as he gave a piece of bread a
thick coating of yellow butter, and then plastered it with the golden
red-rinded sweet.  "That's the way to eat marmalade!" he cried, taking,
out a fine half-moon from the slice.  "That's the economical way."

"Extravagant, you mean?"

"No, I don't; I mean economical.  Don't you see it saves the bread?  One
piece does for both butter and marmalade."

"I don't know how you manage to eat so much.  You had a fried herring
and--"

"A piece of salmon, and some game pie, and etceteras.  That's nothing.
I often have a plate of porridge as well.  You'll eat as much as I do
when you've been down here a week."

"I hope not."

"Nonsense!  Why, it's just what you want.  Here, you let me take you in
hand, and I'll soon make a difference in you.  See how white and thin
you are."

"Am I?"

"Yes, horrid!  You shall have some porridge and milk to-morrow morning.
That's the stuff, as Long Shon says, to lean your back against for the
day."

"I don't understand you!"

"Lean it against forwards," said Kenneth, laughing.  "Besides, we only
have two meals here a day."

"Only two?" cried Max, staring.  "Why, we always have four at home!"

"That's because you don't know any better, I suppose.  You can have
lunch and tea here if you like," said Kenneth contemptuously, "but we
never do--we haven't time."

"Haven't time?"

"No.  Who's going to come back miles from shooting or fishing for the
sake of a bit of lunch.  I always take mine with me."

"Oh, then you do take lunch?" said Max, with a look of relief.

"Yes, always," said Kenneth, showing his white teeth.  "I'm taking it
now--inside.  And old Grant's always grumbling to me about having so
much to do now father does not keep any other men-servants indoors.
Only two meals a day to see to, and we very seldom have any company
now."

"I hope Mr Blande is making a good breakfast, Kenneth," said The
Mackhai, laying down his newspaper.

"No, father, not half a one."

"Oh, thank you, I am indeed."

"I hope Mr Blande will," said The Mackhai stiffly.  "Pray do not let
him think we are wanting in hospitality at Dunroe."

"I'll take care of him, father."

"Quite right, Ken.  What are you going to do to-day?"

"Take him up to the Black Pools and try for a salmon, and go afterwards
with the guns across the moor up Glen Doy, and then right up the Ten
after a hare or two.  After that we could take the boat, and--"

"I think your programme is long enough for to-day, Ken," said The
Mackhai dryly.  "You will excuse me, Mr Blande," he continued, with
formal politeness; "I have some letters to write."

"How about the deer, father?"

"Shon is packing them off for the South, my boy.  Good morning."

The Mackhai walked stiffly out of the room, and Kenneth seized a plate
and knife and fork, after which he cut a triangle of a solid nature out
of a grouse pie, and passed the mass of juicy bird, gelatinous gravy,
and brown crust to his guest.

"I couldn't, indeed I couldn't!" cried Max.

"But you must," cried Kenneth, leaping up.  "I'm going to ring for some
more hot coffee!"

"No, no, don't, pray!" cried Max, rising from the table.

"Oh, all right," said Kenneth, in an ill-used manner; "but how am I to
be hospitable if you won't eat?  Come on, then, and I'll introduce you
to Long Shon.  I'll bet a shilling he has got Scood helping him, and so
greasy that he won't be fit to touch."

Max stared, and Kenneth laughed at his wonderment.

"Didn't you hear what my father said?  Shon has been skinning and
breaking up the deer."

"Breaking up the deer?"

"Well, not with a hammer, of course.  Doing what a butcher does--cutting
them up in joints, you'd call it.  Come along."

He led the way into the hall, seized his cap, and went on across the old
castle court, stopping to throw a stone at a jackdaw, perched upon one
of the old towers.

"He's listening for Donald.  That's his place where he practises.  I
daresay he's up there now, only we can't stop to see."

Outside the old castle they were saluted by a trio of yelps and barks,
the three dogs, after bounding about their master, smelling Max's legs
suspiciously, Sneeshing, of the short and crooked legs, pretending that
he had never seen a pair of trousers before, and taking hold of the
material to test its quality, to Max's horror and dismay.

"Oh, he won't bite!" cried Kenneth; "it's only his way."

"But even a scratch from a dog's tooth might produce hydrophobia," said
Max nervously.

"Not with Scotch dogs," said Kenneth, laughing.  "Here, Sneeshing, you
wouldn't give anybody hydro-what-you-may-call-it, would you, old man,
eh?"

He seized the rough little terrier as he spoke, and turned him over on
his back, caught him by the throat and shook him, the dog retaliating by
growling, snarling, and pretending to worry his master's hand.

This piece of business excited Dirk the collie, who shook out his huge
frill, gave his tail a flourish, and made a plunge at the prostrate dog,
whom he seized by a hind leg, to have Bruce's teeth fixed directly in
his great rough hide, when Kenneth rose up laughing.

"Worry, worry!" he shouted; and there was a regular canine scuffle, all
bark and growl and suppressed whine.

"They'll kill the little dog," cried Max excitedly.

"What, Sneeshing?  Not they.  It's only their fun.  Look!"

For Sneeshing had shaken himself free of Dirk, over whose back he
leaped, then dashed under Bruce, raced round the other two dogs for a
few moments, and then darted off, dodging them in and out among the
rocks, the others in full pursuit till they were all out of breath, when
Sneeshing came close up to his master's heels, Bruce trotted up and
thrust his long nose into his hand, while Dirk went to the front, looked
up inquiringly, and then, keeping a couple of yards in front, led the
way toward a cluster of grey stone buildings hidden from the castle by a
stumpy group of firs.

"He knows where we are going," said Kenneth, laughing, and stopping as
they reached the trees.  "Hear that!  Our chief singing bird."

Max stared inquiringly at his guide, as a peculiar howl came from beyond
the trees, which sounded as if some one in a doleful minor key was
howling out words that might take form literally as follows:--

"Ach--na--shena--howna howna--wagh--hech--wagh!"

"Pretty, isn't it?" said Kenneth, laughing.  "Come away.  The ponies are
in here."

He led the way into a comfortable stable, whereupon there was a rattling
of headstalls, and three ugly big rough heads were turned to look at
him, and three shaggy manes were shaken.

"Hallo, Whaup!  Hallo, Seapie!  Well, Walter!" cried Kenneth, going up
and patting each pony in turn, the little animals responding by nuzzling
up to him and rubbing their ears against his chest.

"Look here!" cried Kenneth.  "This is Walter.  You'll ride him.  Come
and make friends."

Max approached, and then darted back, for, rip rap, the pony's heels
flew out, and as he was standing nearly across the stall, they struck
the division with a loud crack, whose sound made Max leap away to the
stable wall.

"Quiet, Wat!" cried Kenneth, doubling his fist and striking the pony
with all his might in the chest.

The sturdy little animal uttered a cry more like a squeal than a neigh,
shook its head, reared up, and began to strike at the lad with his hoofs
so fiercely, that.  Kenneth darted out of the stall, the halter checking
the pony when it tried to follow, and keeping it in its place in the
punishment which followed.

"That's it, is it, Master Wat, eh?" cried Kenneth, running to a corner
of the stable, and taking down a short thick whip which hung from a
hook.  "You want another lesson, do you, my boy?  You've had too many
oats lately.  Now we shall see.  Stand a little back, Max."

This Max readily did, the pony eyeing them both the while, with its head
turned right round, and making feints of kicking.

The next minute it began to dance and plunge and kick in earnest, as, by
a dexterous usage of the whip, Kenneth gave it crack after crack, each
sounding report being accompanied by a flick on the pony's ribs, which
evidently stung sharply, and made it rear and kick.

"I'll teach you to fight, my lad.  You rhinoceros-hided old ruffian,
take that--and take that--and take that."

"Hey! what's the matter, Master Ken?" cried a harsh voice.

"Kicking and biting, Shon.  I'll teach him," cried Kenneth, thrashing
away at the pony.  "I wish he had been clipped, so that I could make him
feel."

"Hey! but ye mak' him feel enough, Master Ken.  An' is this the
shentleman come down to stay?"

"There's one more for you, Wat, my boy.  Don't let him have any more
oats to-day, Shon," cried Kenneth, giving the pony a final flick.  "Yes,
this is our visitor, Shon.  Max, let me introduce you.  This is Long
Shon Ben Nevis Talisker Teacher, Esquire, Gillie-in-chief of the house
of Mackhai, commonly called Long Shon from his deadly hatred of old
whusky--eh, Shon?"

"Hey, Master Kenneth, if there was chokers and chief chokers down south,
an' ye'd go there, ye'd mak' a fortune," said the short, broad-set man,
with a grin, which showed a fine set of very yellow teeth; "and I'm
thenking that as punishment aifter a hard job, ye might give me shust a
snuff o' whusky in a sma' glass."

"Father said you were never to have any whisky till after seven
o'clock."

"Hey, but the Chief's never hard upon a man," said Shon, taking off his
Tam-o'-Shanter, and wiping his brow with the worsted tuft on the top;
then, turning with a smile to Max, "I'm thenking ye find it a verra
beautiful place, sir?"

"Oh yes, very," replied Max.

"And the Chiefs a gran' man.  Don't ye often wonder he ever had such a
laddie as this for a son?"

"Do you want me to punch your head, Shon?" said Kenneth.

Shon chuckled.

"As hard as hard, sir; never gives a puir fellow a taste o' whusky."

"Look here, have you broken up the deer?"

"Broke up the deer, indeed?  Why, she wass just finished packing them up
in ta boxes."

"Come and see, Max," cried Kenneth, leading the way into a long, low
building, badly lit by one small window, through which the sun shone
upon a man seated crouched together upon a wooden block, with one elbow
upon his bare knee, and a pipe held between his lips.

"Hallo, Tavish, you here?" cried Kenneth.  "Here, Max, this is our
forester.  Stand up, Tavish, and let him see how tall you are."

Max had stopped by the doorway, for the smell and appearance of the
ill-ventilated place were too suggestive of a butcher's business to make
it inviting; but he had taken in at a glance a pile of deal cases, a
block with knives, chopper, and saw, and the heads, antlers, and skins
of a couple of red deer.

The smoker smiled, at least his eyes indicated that he smiled, for the
whole of the lower part of his face was hidden by the huge beard which
swept down over his chest, and hid his grey flannel shirt, to mingle
with the hairy sporran fastened to his waist.

Then the pipe was lowered, two great brown hairy hands were placed upon
his knees, and, as the muscular arms straightened, the man slowly heaved
up his back, keeping his head bent down, till his broad shoulders nearly
touched the sloping roof, and then he took a step or two forward.

"She canna stand quite up without knocking her head, Master Kenneth."

"Yes, you can--there!" cried Kenneth.  "Now then, head up.  There, Max,
what do you think of him?  Six feet six.  Father says he's half a
Scandinavian.  He can take Shon under one arm and Scood under the other,
and run with them up-hill."

Max stared wonderingly at the great good-tempered-looking giant, with
high forehead and kindly blue eyes, which made him, with his aquiline
nose, look as grand a specimen of humanity as he had ever seen.

"She knockit her head against that beam once, sir and it's made her
verra careful ever since.  May she sit down now, Master Kenneth?"

"Yes, all right, Tavish; I only wanted my friend to see how big you
are."

"Ah, it's no great thing to be so big, sir," said the great forester,
slowly subsiding, and doubling himself up till he was once more in
reasonable compass on the block.  "It makes people think ye can do so
much wark, and a man has a deal to carry on two legs."

"Tavish is afraid of the work," grumbled Shon.  "I did all these up
mysel'."

"An' why not?" said the great forester, in a low, deep growl.  "She
found the deer for the Chief yester, and took the horns when he'd shot
'em and prought 'em hame as a forester should."

"Never mind old Shon, Tavish.  Look here, what are you going to do
to-day?"

"Shust rest hersel' and smock her pipe."

"No; come along with us, Tav.  I want my friend here to catch a salmon."

"Hey! she'll come," said the forester, in a low voice which sounded like
human thunder, and, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, he stuck the
stem inside his sock beside the handle of a little knife, but started
slightly, for the bowl burnt his leg, and he snatched it out and thrust
it in the goatskin pocket that hung from his waistband.

"And Scood and me are to be left to get off these boxes!" cried Shon
angrily.

"No, you'll have to do it all yourself, Shon," said Kenneth, laughing;
"Scood's coming along with us."

"Scood--die!" he shouted as soon as he was outside, and there was an
answering yell, followed by the pat pat of footsteps as the lad came
running up.

Tavish bent down as if he were going to crawl as he came out of the
door.

"Why, you stoop like an old goose coming out of a barn, Tavvy," cried
Kenneth, laughing.  "How particular you are over that old figurehead of
yours."

"Well, she's only got one head, Master Kenneth; and plows on the top are
not coot for a man."

"Never mind, come along.  Here, Scood, get two rods and the basket.
You'll find the fly-book and the gaff on the shelf."

"I have a fishing-rod--a new one," said Max excitedly.

"Oh! ah! so you have," replied Kenneth.  "Never mind, we'll try that
another day.  Can you throw a fly?"

"I think so," said Max dubiously.  "I never tried, though."

The big forester stared down at him, as he drew a blue worsted cap of
the kind known as Glengarry from his waist, where it had been hanging to
the handle of a hunting-knife or dirk, and, as he slowly put it on over
his shaggy brown hair, his fine eyes once more seemed to laugh.

"He'll catch one, Tavvy, a forty-pounder, eh?" cried Kenneth, giving the
forester a merry look.

"Nay, she shall not catch a fush like that," said the forester.

"Get out!  How do you know?" cried Kenneth.

"Oh, she kens that verra weel.  She shall not catch the fush till she
knows how."

"We'll see about that," cried Kenneth, catching Max by the arm.  "Here,
Tav, you see that Scood gets the rods all right.  I want to introduce
Mr Blande to old Donald."

"She will be all retty," said the forester, nodding his head slowly, and
standing gazing after the two lads till they were some yards away, when
he stopped the nodding motion of his head and began to shake it slowly,
with his eyes seeming to laugh more and more.

"She means little cames with the laddie; she means little cames."



CHAPTER EIGHT.

IN THE OLD TOWER.

"Father said I was to make you quite at home, Max," said Kenneth, "so
let's see old Donald before we go.  You have been introduced to the cook
by deputy.  Come along."

"Who is old Donald--is he a chief?"

"Chief! no.  I thought I told you.  He's our piper."

"Oh!"

"This way."

Kenneth led his companion back to the great entrance of the ruined
castle, through which gateway Scoodrach had gone in search of the rods.

Tah-tah-tah! cried the jackdaws, as the lads entered the open gloomy
yard, and half a dozen began to fly here and there, while two or three
perched about, and peered inquiringly down first with one eye and then
with the other.

Max looked up at the mouldering walls, with their crevices dotted with
patches of polypody and _ruta muraria_, velvety moss, and flaunting
golden sun ragwort, and wondered whether the place was ever attacked.

"Here's Scood," cried Kenneth, as the lad appeared through the farther
arch, bearing a couple of long rods over his shoulder as if they were
lances for the defence.  "Here, we're going up to see Donald.  Is he
there?"

"Yes, she heard him as she went to the house."

"All right.  You go on to Tavvy.  Stop a moment.  Go back and get a
flask, and ask Grant to fill it with whisky.  Tavvy will want a drop to
christen the first fish."

"She's got it," said Scoodrach, holding up a flask by its strap.

"Did he give you plenty?"

"She asked him, and Master Crant said he wouldn't give me a trop, and
sent me away."

"But, I say--"

"Ta pottle's quite full," said Scood, grinning.  "Master Crant sent her
away, so she went rount to the window, and got in, and filled it at the
sideboard."

"I say, Scood, you mustn't do that!" cried Kenneth sharply.

"Why not?  She titn't want the whusky, but the young master tit.  Who
shall Master Crant be, she should like to know!"

"Well, never mind now, only don't do it again.  It's like stealing,
Scood."

"Like what?" cried the lad, firing up.  "How could she steal the whusky
when she ton't trink it hersel?  She wanted her master's whusky for the
young master.  You talk creat nonsense."

"Ah, well, go on.  We'll come directly."

Scoodrach went off scowling, and Kenneth scratched his head.

"He's a rum fellow, isn't he?  Never mind; nobody saw him; only he
mustn't do it again.  Why, I believe if father saw him getting in at the
window, he'd pepper him.  Here, this way."

Kenneth entered another doorway, whose stones showed the holes where the
great hinges and bolts had been, and began to ascend a spiral flight of
broken stairs.

"Mind how you come.  I'll give you a hand when it's dangerous."

"Dangerous!" said Max, shrinking.

"Well, I mean awkward; you couldn't fall very far."

"But why are we going up there?"

"Never mind; come on."

"But you are going to play me some trick."

"If you don't come directly, I will play you a trick.  I wasn't going
to, but if you flinch, I'll shove you in one of the old dungeons, and
see how you like that."

"But--"

"Well, you are a coward!  I didn't think Cockneys were such girls."

"I'm not a coward, and I'm coming," said Max quickly; "but I'm not used
to going up places like this."

"Oh, I am sorry!" cried Kenneth mockingly.  "If I had known you were
coming, we'd have had the man from Glasgow to lay on a few barrels of
gas, and had a Brussels carpet laid down."

"Now, you are mocking at me," said Max quietly.  "I could not help
feeling nervous.  Go on, please.  I'll come."

"He is a rum chap," said Kenneth, laughing to himself, as he disappeared
in the darkness.

"Do the steps go up straight?" said Max from below.

"No; round and round like a corkscrew.  It won't be so dark higher up.
There used to be a loophole here, but the stones fell together."

Max drew a deep breath, and began stumbling up the spiral stairs, which
had mouldered away till some of them sloped, while others were deep
hollows; but he toiled on, with a half giddy, shrinking sensation
increasing as he rose.

"If you feel anything rush down by you," said Kenneth, in a hollow
whisper, "don't be afraid; it's only an old ghost.  They swarm here."

"I don't believe it," said Max quietly.

"Well, will you believe this?--there are two steps gone, and there's a
big hole just below me.  Give me your hand, or you'll go through."

Max made no reply, but went cautiously on till he could feel that he had
reached the dangerous place, and stopped.

"Now then, give me your hand, and reach up with one leg quite high.
That's the way."

Kenneth felt that the soft hand he took was cold and damp.

"Got your foot up?  Ready?"

"Yes."

"There now, spring."

There was a bit of a scuffle, and Max stood beside his young host.

"That's the way.  It's worse going down, but you'll soon get used to it.
Why, Scood and I run up and down here."

Max made no answer, but cautiously followed his leader, growing more and
more nervous as he climbed, for his unaccustomed feet kept slipping, and
in several places the stones were so worn and broken away that it really
would have been perilous in broad daylight, while in the semi-obscurity,
and at times darkness, there were spots that, had he seen them, the lad
would have declined to pass.

"Here we are," said Kenneth, in a whisper, as the light now shone down
upon them.  "Be quiet.  I don't suppose he heard us come up."

Max obeyed, and followed his guide up a few more steps, to where they
turned suddenly to left as well as right--the latter leading to the
ruined battlements of the corner tower, the former into an old chamber,
partly covered in by the groined roof, and lit by a couple of loopholes
from the outside, and by a broken window opening on to the old
quadrangle.

The floor was of stone, and so broken away in places that it was
possible to gaze down to the basement of the tower, the lower floors
being gone; and here, busy at work, in the half roofless place, with the
furniture consisting of a short plank laid across a couple of stones
beneath the window, and an old three-legged stool in the crumbling,
arched hollow of what had been the fireplace, sat a wild-looking old
man.  The top of his head was shiny and bald, but from all round
streamed down his long thin silvery locks, and, as he raised his head
for a moment to pick up something from the floor, Max could see that his
face was half hidden by his long white beard, which flew out in silvery
strands from time to time, as a puff of wind came from the unglazed
window.

He too was in jacket and kilt, beneath which his long thin bare legs
glistened with shaggy silver hairs, and, as Max gazed at the dull,
sunken eyes, high cheek-bone, and eagle-beak nose of the wonderfully
wrinkled face, he involuntarily shrank back, and felt disposed to
hastily descend.

For a few moments he did not realise what the old man was doing, for
there was something shapeless in his lap, and what seemed to be three or
four joints of an old fishing-rod beneath his arm, while he busily
smoothed and passed a piece of fine string or twisted hemp through his
hands, one of which Max saw directly held a piece of wax.

"Is he shoemaking?" thought Max; but directly after saw that the old
fellow was about to bind one of the joints of the fishing-rod.

Just then, as he raised his head, he seemed to catch sight of the two
lads standing in the old doorway, and the eyes that were dull and
filmy-looking gradually began to glisten, and the face grow wild and
fierce, but only to soften to a smile as he exclaimed, in a harsh,
highly-pitched voice,--

"Ah, Kenneth, my son!  Boy of my heart!  Have you come, my young eagle,
to see the old man?"

"Yes; I've brought our visitor, Mr Max Blande."

"Ah!" said the old man, half-rising and making a courtly bow; "she hurt
that the young Southron laird had come, and there's sorrow in her old
heart, for the pipes are not ready to give him welcome to the home of
our Chief."

"What, haven't you got 'em mended yet?"

"Not quite, Kenneth, laddie.  I'm doing them well, and to-morrow they
shall sing the old songs once again."

"Hurrah!" cried Kenneth.  "My friend here is fra the sooth, but he lo'es
the skirl o' the auld pipes like a son o' The Mackhai."

"Hey!  Does he?" cried the old man, firing up.  "Then let him lay his
han' in mine, and to-morrow, and the next day, and while he stays, he
shall hear the old strains once again."

"That's right."

"Ay, laddie, for Donald has breath yet, auld as he is."

"Ah, you're pretty old, aren't you, Donald?"

"Old?  Ay.  She'll be nearly a hundert, sir," said the old man proudly.
"A hundert--a hundert years."

Max stared, and felt a curious sensation of shrinking from the
weird-looking old man, which increased as he suddenly beckoned him to
approach with his thin, claw-like hand, after sinking back in his seat.

In spite of his shrinking, Max felt compelled to go closer to the old
fellow, who nodded and smiled and patted the baize-covered skin in his
lap.

"Ta bag," he said confidentially, "she isn't a hundert years auld, but
she's auld, and she was proke, and ta wint whustled when she plew, but
she's chust mended, and to-morrow--ah, to-morrow!"

"Yes; we're going fishing," said Kenneth, who was enjoying Max's
shrinking way.

"Chust going to fush," said the old man, who was gazing searchingly at
Max.  "And she likes ta music and ta pipes?  She shall hear them then."

"Yes, get them mended, Donald; we want to hear them again."

"P'raps she could chust make enough music the noo."

Kenneth laughed as he saw Max's horror, for the old man began hastily to
twist up the wax end with which he had been binding one of the cracked
pipes; but he laid his hand on his shoulder.

"No, no; not this morning.  Get them all right, Donald."

"Yes; she was ketting them all right," he muttered, and he began with
trembling fingers to unfasten the waxed thread.

At a sign from his companion, Max hurriedly followed him to the doorway.

"We'll go up on the top another time," said Kenneth.  "There's such a
view, and you can walk nearly all round the tower, only you have to be
careful, or over you go."

Max gave a horrified glance up the crumbling staircase, and then
followed Kenneth, who began to descend with all the ease of one long
accustomed to the dark place.

"Take care here!" he kept on saying, as they came to the awkward places,
where Max felt as if he would give anything for a candle, but he
mastered his timidity, and contrived to pass over the different gaps in
the stairs safely.

"How does that old man manage?" he asked, as he drew breath freely at
the bottom.

"Manage?  Manage what?"

"Does he always stay there?"

"What!  Old Donald?  Why, he cuts up and down there as quickly as I
can."

"Then he is not always there?"

"Not he.  Too fond of a good peat fire.  He lives and sleeps at Long
Shon's.  But come along."

He hurried Max out of the quadrangle and down toward the narrow neck of
rock which was uncovered by the falling tide, and then along by a sandy
path, which passed two or three low whitewashed bothies, from whose
chimneys rose a faint blue smoke, which emitted a pungent, peculiar
odour.

Suddenly a thought occurred to Kenneth as they were passing one of the
cottages, where a brown-faced, square-looking woman in a white mutch sat
picking a chicken, the feathers floating here and there, and a number of
fowls pecking about coolly enough, and exhibiting not the slightest
alarm at their late companion's fate.

"That's Mrs Long Shon, Max," whispered Kenneth hastily.  "You go on
along this path; keep close to the water, and I'll catch up to you
directly."

"You will not be long?" said Max, with a helpless look.

"Long! no.  Catch you directly.  Go on.  I just want to speak to the old
woman."

Max went on, keeping, as advised, close to the waters of the little bay,
till he could go no farther, for a rapid burn came down from the hills
and emptied itself there into the sea.

"Hillo! ahoy!" came a voice from behind him, just as he was gazing
helplessly about, and wondering whether, if he attempted to ford the
burn, there would be any dangerous quicksands.

Max turned, to see Kenneth coming trotting along with a basket in his
hand.

"Off with your shoes and socks, Max," cried Kenneth.

He set the example, and was half across before Max was ready.

"Tuck up your trousers," continued Kenneth, laughing.  "Why don't you
dress like I do?  No trousers to tuck!"

Max obeyed to the letter, and followed into the stream, flinching and
making faces and balancing, as he held a shoe in each hand.

"Why, what's the matter?" cried Kenneth.

"It's--very--chilly," said Max, hurrying on as fast as he could, but
managing so badly that he put one foot in a deep place, and to save
himself from falling the other followed, with the result that he came
out on the other side with the bottoms of his trousers dripping wet.



CHAPTER NINE.

SALMON-FISHING.

"You are a fellow!" cried Kenneth, laughing.  "Here, what are you going
to do?"

"Return to the castle and change them," said Max, as he was about to
retrace his steps.

"Nonsense!  You mustn't mind a drop of water out here.  We're going
salmon-fishing.  I daresay you'll get wetter than that.  Come on."

"I'll put on my shoes and stockings first," said Max, taking out a
pocket-handkerchief to use as a towel.

"Get out!  Let the wind dry you.  It's all sand and heather along here.
Come on."

Max sighed to himself, and limped after his guide, who stepped out
boldly over the rough ground, hopping from stone to stone, running his
feet well into patches of dry sand, which acted like old-fashioned
pounce on ink, and from merry malice picking out places where the
sand-thistles grew, all of which Max bore patiently for a few minutes,
and then, after pricking one of his toes sharply, he stopped short.

"What now?" cried Kenneth, with suppressed mirth.

"Hadn't we better put on our shoes and stockings here?"

"What for?"

"We might meet somebody."

"Well, of course.  Suppose we did?"

"It--it looks so indelicate," said Max hesitatingly.

"Oh, I say, don't!" cried Kenneth, roaring with laughter; "you make my
sides ache again."

"Did I say something funny, then?"

"Funny!  Why, it's screaming.  Why, half the people go bare-legged here.
All the children do."

"But the things prick one's feet so, and we might meet with poisonous
snakes."

"Then let's put them on," said Kenneth, with mock seriousness.  "I did
not think about the poisonous snakes."

He set the example of taking possession of a stone, and, slipping on his
check worsted socks and low shoes in a few moments, to jump up again and
stand looking down at Max, who made quite a business of the matter.
Kenneth gave each foot a kick and a stamp to get rid of the sand.  Max
proceeded very deliberately to wipe away the sand and scraps of heather
from between his toes with one clean pocket-handkerchief, and to polish
them with another.

"Oh, they look beautiful and white now!" said Kenneth, with mock
seriousness, as he drew his dirk and stropped it on his hand.  "Like to
trim your toe-nails and cut your corns?"

"No, thank you," said Max innocently.  "I won't keep you waiting
to-day."

"Oh, I don't mind," said Kenneth politely.

"There, you are laughing at me again," cried Max reproachfully.

"Well, who's to help it if you will be such a mollycoddle!  Slip on your
socks and shoes now.  I want you to catch that salmon."

"Ah yes, I should like to catch a salmon!" said Max, hastily pulling on
his socks and then his too tight shoes.  "There, I'm ready now."

Half a mile farther they struck the side of a sea loch, and, after
following its shore for a short distance, Kenneth plunged into the heath
and began to climb a steep, rugged slope, up which Max toiled, till on
the top he paused, breathless and full of wonder at the beauty of the
scene.  The slope they had climbed was the back-bone of a buttress of
the hill which flanked the loch, the said buttress running out and
forming a promontory.

"There, we have cut off quite half a mile by coming up here."

"How beautiful!" said Max involuntarily, as he gazed at the long stretch
of miles of blue water which ran right in among the mountainous hills.

"Yes, it's all right," cried Kenneth.  "There they are half way down to
the river."

"Then we are not going to fish in the loch?"

"No, no; we're going to hit the river yonder, a mile from where it
enters the sea, and work on up toward the fresh-water loch."

"Where is the river, then?"

"You can't see it.  Runs down yonder among the trees and rocks.  You can
just see where it goes into the loch," continued Kenneth, pointing.
"Hillo! ahoy!"

"Ahoy!" came back from the distance; and Scood and the tall forester
seated themselves on a great block of granite and awaited their coming.

Tavish smiled with his eyes, which seemed to have the same laughing,
pleasant look in them seen in those of a friendly setter, the effect
being that Max felt drawn toward the great Highlander, and walked on by
his side, while Kenneth took the two long rods from Scoodrach, giving
him the basket to carry; and, as they dropped behind, with Kenneth
talking earnestly to the young gillie in a low tone, the latter suddenly
made a curious explosive noise, like a laugh chopped right in two before
it quite escaped from a mouth.

Kenneth was looking as solemn as Scoodrach as Max turned sharply round,
his sensitive nature suggesting at once that he was being laughed at.

Tavish evidently thought that there was something humorous on the way,
for he gave Max a poke with his elbow, and uttered the one word,--

"Cames!"

A quarter of an hour's rough walking brought them to a steep descent
among pines and birches, directly they had passed which Max uttered an
ejaculation, for the scene which opened out before him seemed a wonder
of beauty.

Just in front the ground sloped down amidst piled-up, rugged masses of
rock to a swiftly-flowing river, whose waters were perfectly black in
every deep basin and pool, and one rich, deep, creamy foam wherever it
raced and tumbled, and made hundreds of miniature falls among the great
boulders and stones which dotted the stream.  Right and left he could
gaze along a deep winding ravine, while in front, across the river,
there was a narrow band of exquisite green, dotted with pale purple
gentian and fringed with ragwort, and beyond, the mountain rose up
steeply, looking almost perpendicular, but broken by rifts and crevices
and shelves, among which the spiring larch and pine towered up, showing
their contrast of greens, and the lovely pensile birches drooped down
wondrous veils of leaf and lacing delicate twig, as if to hide their
silvery, moss-decked stems.

"Like it?" cried Kenneth.

"Like it!" cried Max enthusiastically.  "It is lovely!  I didn't think
there could be anything so grand."

"Ferry coot.  She knows what is ferry coot," said Tavish, nodding his
head approvingly, as he set down a basket.

"Glad you're satisfied!" cried Kenneth; "but we've come to fish."

"To fish?"

"Yes, of course."

"Are there salmon here, then?"

"Yes; there's one in every pool, I'll bet; and I daresay there's one
where the little fall comes down."

"What!  There?" cried Max, as he looked up and up, till about two
thousand feet above them a thread of glancing silver seemed to join
other threads of glancing silver, like veins of burnished metal, to come
gliding down, now lost to sight among the verdure of the mountain, now
coming into view again, till they joined in one rapid rivulet, which had
cut for itself a channel deep in the mountain side, and finally dashed
out from beneath the shade of the overhanging birches, to plunge with a
dull roar into the river nearly opposite where they stood.

"Now then," said Kenneth, "I'm supposing that you have never tried to
catch a salmon."

"Puir laddie!" muttered the great forester; "a'most a man, and never
caught a fush!  Hey! where are ye gaun wi' that basket, Scood?"

"Never you mind, Tavvy.  I sent him," said Kenneth sharply, as Scoodrach
plunged in among the rocks and bushes behind them, and disappeared.

"I think you had better fish," said Max shrinkingly, "I have never
tried."

"Then you are going to try now.  Take this rod.  Hold it in both hands,
so.  There, you see there is a grand salmon fly on."

"Yes, I see."

"Well, now, do just as I do.  There's not much line out.  Give it a wave
like this, just as if you were making a figure eight in the air, and
then try to let your fly fall gently just there."

Max had taken the rod, and stood watching Kenneth, who had taken the
other, and, giving it a wave, he made the fly fall lightly on the short
grass beside the river.

"Is this a salmon leap, then?" asked Max innocently.

"No; but there's one higher up.  Why?"

"Because I thought the salmon must leap out of the river on to the grass
to take the fly."

"Hoo--hoo--hoo!  Hoogle--hoogle--hoogle!  I beg your pairdon!"

Tavish had burst out into a kind of roar, as near to the above as
English letters will sound.  Perhaps he was laughing in Gaelic, with a
cross of Scandinavian; but, whatever it was, he seemed heartily ashamed
of his rudeness, and looked as solemn as a judge.

"Don't laugh, Tavvy," cried Kenneth, to conceal his own mirth.  "Why,
can't you see that I was making you practise on the grass before letting
you throw in the water."

"She mustn't splash the watter," said Tavish sententiously.

"Scare the salmon away.  Now then, try and throw."

Max made a clumsy effort; the line whistled through the air, and Tavish
gave a violent start.

"She nearly hookit her in the nose!" he cried.

Max stopped short, looking horribly perplexed; but Kenneth urged him on.

"Try again," he said.  "Like that, and that, and that.  It's easy
enough.  Try and throw the fly lightly right away from you."

Max tried and tried, but with very indifferent success, Tavish making
him very nervous by shaking his head from time to time.

"No, no! not that way; this way!" cried Kenneth.

Max tried again.

"Now she's trying to hook her in the eye," muttered the forester, moving
out of range.

"Try if you can throw it a little worse," said Kenneth mockingly.

"I couldn't," sighed Max.

"Try."

Max threw once more.

"There, what did I say?" cried Kenneth.

"Try to throw a little worse; and I did," said Max apologetically.

"And you threw ten times better.  He'll soon throw a fly, Tavvy."

"Ay, she'll soon throw a fly," said the forester.

"There; now you shall try and throw one downstream," said Kenneth.

"No, no; I'd rather you would try," cried Max.

"I can try any time.  I want you to learn now.  Look here! you see those
stepping-stones leading out to that big block?"

"What! right out there in the rushing water?"

"Yes; that's a splendid stand."

"She's a coot stand, a ferry coot stand," said Tavish.  "She's caught
manny a coot fush there."

"But it looks so dangerous," pleaded Max.

"Nonsense!"

"But suppose I fell in?"

"Then Tavvy would fish you out with the gaff.  Now don't be a coward.
Go out there, and try and throw your fly just over that big rock close
in-shore.  See where I mean?"

"Yes, I see," said Max dolefully; "but I shall never do it."

"You won't without you try," cried Kenneth.  "Now go out, and keep on
trying to throw till you make the fly fall on the other side of that big
block."

"But there's no watter there," said Tavish.

"Hold your tongue.  You can't see behind it," said Kenneth.  "How do you
know?"

"She knows there's no watter there, and if there was it wouldn't hold a
fush.  You let him throw the flee yonder."

"Am I to fish with a flea?" said Max.

"No, no, no!" cried Kenneth, stamping about with mirth, while another
chopped-off laugh seemed to come from below.  "Tavvy means a fly.  You
go on and do as I say."

"But, Master Ken, there shall not be a fush there."

"You Tavvy, if you say another word, I'll pitch you into the river."

The great Highlander chuckled softly, like a big turkey practising a
gobble, and took off his bonnet to rub his head, while Kenneth hurried
Max on, and stood on the shore, while the visitor walked out over the
stones amongst which the river ran and foamed, Max looking, rod in hand,
like a clumsy tight-rope dancer balancing himself with his pole.

Kenneth held up his hand to Tavish, who stared wonderingly, and took off
his cap to look inside it as if he expected an explanation there, but he
put it on again, and stood watching his young master and the visitor
wonderingly, as the latter, urged by Kenneth, made an attempt to throw
the fly, which fell almost at his feet.

"There's no watter on the far side," muttered Tavish.

Whish went the line again.

"Well done, Max.  Go on.  You'll soon do it, and catch a salmon," cried
Kenneth.

"It's very awkward standing here," said Max appealingly.

"You're all right.  Throw away.  Get your fly the other side of the
stone."

"Phwhat for will she get the flee the other side o' the stane?" muttered
Tavish, tugging at his beard.

"Now, another, Max.  Go on."

"Noo anither, she says to the puir feckless laddie."

Whizz!

Max made a desperate throw, and, to his own wonderment, the line, with
the fly at the end, passed right over the great block of stone lying
close to the shore.

"Is that right?" said Max.

"Yes.  Bravo! capital!  You'll have one.  Don't strike too hard if you
have a touch."

"Stanes and spates!" roared the great Highlander, leaping from the
ground in his excitement.  "Strike, laddie, strike!  That's gran'!  Haud
oop yer rod.  Keep the point o' yer rod oop.  Noo, Master Kenneth
laddie, ye shall see what tooks place.  Keep oop the point o' yer rod,
laddie.  Dinna haud on by the reel.  Let the fush rin! let the fush rin!
Hech! but it does a man's hairt gude to see."

"It's tugging so, it will pull me in," cried Max, whose face was flushed
with excitement as his rod bent nearly double.

"No, no; stand fast.  Keep a tight line," cried Kenneth, who seemed just
as excited.  "It's a rare big one, Max."

"Ay, it's a fine fush," cried the forester.  "It's nae kelt.  Shall I go
and help the laddie?"

"No, no, Tav; let him catch it himself.  Look how it pulls!"

"But it don't rin.  Has she hookit a stane?  Na it's a fush, and a gude
fush.  Dinna be hasty, laddie.  I'll be ready wi' the gaff.  Let her
rin, and--Stanes and spates! did ye ever see the like o' that, Maister
Kenneth?  She's caught a watter-hen!"

For at that moment, after the rod had bent double nearly, and been
jerked and tugged till Max could hardly keep his footing, the invisible
fish behind the rock suddenly seemed to dart upward, and, as the rod
straightened, the captive to the hook flew right up in the air and fell
with a splash on the side of the stone nearest to where Max stood
staring at Tavish who waded into the water knee-deep, and with a
dexterous jerk of the gaff hook got hold of the captive and dragged it
ashore.

"Sure eneuch, it's a watter-hen," cried Tavish excitedly.  "Ye've caught
a watter-hen, maister, and it's no' a fush.  D'ye hear, Maister Kenneth,
and did ye ever hear o' such a thing?  It's a watter-hen."

"No, Tavvy," cried Kenneth, who had fallen back on the heather, and was
kicking up his heels, as he roared with laughter,--"no, it isn't a
water-hen; it's a cock."  The forester took up the bird he had hooked,
and examined its drenched feathers and comb before letting its head
swing to and fro.

"Why, its weam's all loose," he cried, "and it's quite deid!  Eh, but
it's ane o' yer cames, Maister Kenneth.  Here," he cried, running to the
rock and making a dab with the gaff, which hooked something, "come oot,
Scood!  They've peen making came o' ye, maister.  I thought there was
something on the way."

"It's too bad," said Max reproachfully, as Scood, hooked by the kilt,
allowed himself to be dragged forward, grinning with all his muscular
force, while Kenneth lay back roaring with laughter, and wiping his
eyes.

"Yes, it was too bad," he said feebly, and in a voice half choked with
mirth.  "But never mind; you show him now, Tawy.  Make him catch a
salmon."

"No," said Max, stepping back and laying down the rod; "you are only
making fun of me."

"Nay, I'll no' mak' fun o' thee, laddie," said Tavish.  "Come wi' me,
and ye shall get a saumon, and a gude ane.  Let them laugh, but bide a
wee, and we'll laugh at them."

Max shook his head, but the great forester seemed to be so thoroughly in
earnest, and to look so disappointed, that, after a moment's hesitation,
he stooped and picked up the rod once more, while Tavish took hold of
his arm and led him toward another stone, upon which whosoever stood had
the full command of a broad deep pool, into which the waters of the
river surged and were slowly eddied round and round.

"Now then," said Tavish, making a careful examination of the fly, "ye'll
do as I tell ye, and before long we'll hae a bonnie fush."



CHAPTER TEN.

MAX'S FIRST "FUSH."

If Max Blande could have done as he liked, he would have said, "No,
thank you, I would rather see you fish," but, with a strong feeling upon
him that if he refused to make another trial he would either be laughed
at or looked upon as a contemptible coward, he took the long rod, with
the line sufficiently drawn from the reel to allow the gaudy fly to hang
down by his hand.

"Ye'll tak' haud o' the flee, or maybe ye'll hae the hook in your han',"
cried Tavish.  "That's richt.  Noo ye'll throw the flee richt oot
yonner, and keep drawing a little more line frae the reel at ivery cast.
I'll tell ye whaur to throw.  Noo then, tak' your stan' richt oot on
that big stane whaur the watter comes doon."

"But it looks so wet and slippery."

"The watter always mak's the stanes wet."

"But it's dangerous."

Tavish looked at him with astonishment.  He could not conceive the
possibility of any one seeing danger in going with a spring from rock to
rock among which the beautiful river rushed, and his blue eyes opened
widely.

"I mean," faltered Max, "that it would be so easy to slip in."

"Oh, I ken the noo," cried Tavish.  "Dinna be skeart, laddie.  Ye think
she'll catch a cold.  Hey, but ye needna be feart o' that.  The watter
comes doon fresh frae the loch, and she wouldna gie cold to a bairn, let
alane a bonnie young laird like you."

Max glanced at Kenneth, who was busily tying on a fly and talking to
Scoodrach.  So, drawing a long breath, he stepped from the bank on to
the first stone, after a stride of about a yard, and then stood still,
for the water rushing swiftly round him made him feel dizzy.

"Noo the next," said Tavish encouragingly; and, comforting himself with
the idea that if he was to fall into the rushing water it seemed
shallower farther out than close in-shore, where it looked very black
and deep, he stepped out to the next stone, and then to the next,
wondering the while that nothing had happened to him.  Then on and on
from stone to stone, feeling giddy, excited, and in a nervous state
which impelled him on, though all the while he seemed to have a tragedy
taking place before his eyes--of one Max Blande, visitor from London,
slipping from a rock out in the midst of that rushing river, and being
rolled over and over in the foam, tossed here, banged there against
projecting masses of rock, gliding round and round in smooth black
whirlpools, and finally being fished out a mile below, dead and cold,
and with his clothes clinging to him.

He was just about to get on to the imaginary scene of his own funeral
being conducted in the most impressive manner, when the voice of the
forester made him start.

"Gude--gude--gude!" he cried.  "Why, ye can leap frae stane to stane as
weel as young Scood."

The praise acted like a spur, and Max pressed on over the rest of the
rocks till he came to the last, quite a buttress nearly in the middle of
the stream.

"Ye'll no' go farther," cried Tavish.

Max did not intend to try, for the next step would have been into the
cold boiling water.

"Got one yet, Max?" shouted Kenneth, his voice sounding weak and faint
in the roar of the hurrying stream.

Max shook his head without daring to turn, as he stood there with the
foaming, glancing water all round, steadying himself, and forgetting all
about the object for which he had come, his one idea being that his
object there was to balance himself and to keep from falling.

"Noo," shouted Tavish, and his voice electrified Max, who nearly dropped
the rod.  "That's the way, laddie.  Tak a good grip o' the butt and mak'
your first cast ahint that black stane.  She shall hook a fush there.
Leuk, did ye see the fush rise?"

Max was trying to make out among scores the black stone "ahint" which he
was to throw his "flee," and in a kind of desperation he gave the rod a
wave as if it was a great cart-whip, and threw.

That is to say, he did something, but where the ornamented hook fell, or
whether it fell at all, he had not the slightest idea.

"A coot cast!" cried Tavish; "richt for the spot, but not long eneuch.
Pull oot some more line, laddie, and do't again."

Max obeyed, trying to repeat his former performance in the same blind
fashion, and involuntarily he cast the fly in the very pool the forester
had pointed out, the eddy catching it and giving it a swirl round before
carrying it out of the smooth black water and then away down-stream.

"There, she will hae the fush directly.  See her rise?"

Max made no reply, but let the fly run to the extent of the line, and,
without being told, cast again, and looked at Tavish as if to silently
ask if that was right.

To his surprise, the forester was dancing about frantically upon the
shore, while Kenneth and Scoodrach seemed to be roaring with laughter.

"Have I done anything very stupid?" said Max to himself.

"Ye winna catch a fush like that," cried Tavish; and the next moment Max
looked at him in horror, for he came with a rush across the stones, and
in the most reckless manner, as if at any moment he must fall headlong
into the water.

Nothing of the kind.  Tavish was a giant in size, but as sure-footed as
a goat, and in very few seconds he was alongside Max, bending down to
take his keen knife out of his stocking, and looking fiercely at the
fisher.

"What have I done?"  Max's lips parted to say, but they did not utter
the words, for Tavish had seized him by the jacket, and for the moment
ideas of attacks by savage Highlanders made upon peaceful Southrons
flashed into the lad's brain and faded away.

"She'll never catch a fush like that," cried Tavish.

"But I did try," said Max in remonstrance.

"She says she did try," cried Tavish scornfully.  "Turn roond, she's got
ta flee in her pack."

"A flee?  Back?  Oh, I see!" cried Max, yielding to the pressure of the
Highlander's hand, and turning half round.

"Mind.  Does she want to co into the watter?"

But for the strong grasp upon his arm, Max would have stepped off the
rock and gone headlong, but he hastily found a place for his erring
foot, and stood still while a slight slit was made in the back of his
tweed jacket, and the salmon fly which had hooked in there was cut
loose.

"Why didn't you leave it, Tav?"  Kenneth shouted, with his hands to his
mouth.

"There, now, she'll co pack.  Cast again, laddie.  She'll soon find ta
way."

Tavish trotted back, and Max stood for a few moments, with his brow
wrinkled up, watching the forester till he was back ashore.

"Look, laddie, she's rising," he shouted.  "Noo cast yonder ahint that
stane."

Max had not noticed the rise, but he grasped now the spot where the fish
was supposed to be, and made a dash with his rod, sending the line
first, the fly after it, and the top of the rod into the stream with a
splash.

"Acain! cast acain!" cried Tavish; and Max threw and threw his fly,
never going two-thirds of the way toward the pool, where a salmon was
patiently waiting for such good things as might be washed down and into
the great hole behind the stone.

As the tyro whisked and waved the rod about, the natural result was that
he ran out more and more line, which, thanks to the rushing water, was
saved from entanglement.

"It's of no use," he said at last despondently, after nearly
overbalancing himself, and feeling very dizzy once more.

The remark was meant for the forester's ears, but the sound drowned it,
and the forester shouted,--

"Noo acain, laddie!  Get a good grip o' the butt, and send the flee
close under the stane; ta fush is there."

Max drew a long breath, and, after the fashion shown him, gave the rod
two or three good swishes in the air, the line flying out well behind,
and then with all his might he made a tremendous down-stroke, whose
effect was to send the fly right across the pool and on to the black
stone, where it caught and held on.

"Drop your rod!" roared Tavish.  "Na, na, the point, laddie, the point!"

Tavish was just in time.  Another moment, and the rod would have all
been in the river.  As it was, only the point splashed in, and as the
line was slackened the hook fell over sideways and then glided slowly
down the side of the rock and dropped lightly into the pool, to go
gliding round.

Splash!

"Up wi' the rod, laddie! up wi' the point o' your rod, laddie!" cried
Tavish excitedly.  "She's cot ta fush--she's cot ta fush!"

Max obeyed, and raised the point of his rod, and then felt a tremendous
tug, which sent an electric shock through him.

"She's cot him! she's cot him!" cried Tavish, dancing about on the shore
and waving the gaff hook he held.  "Noo, my laddie, never let the fush
rin without feeling your han'."

Max heard the forester's shout, but hardly comprehended his words in the
excitement of feeling the fish he had hooked dart here and there from
side to side of the black-looking pool, and keeping so tight a line that
all at once there was a flash of silver, and a goodly salmon leaped
right out of the water and fell with a great splash.

"Ah, she's gone!" cried Tavish, stamping with rage.  "Nay, hold on!  Let
her rin the noo.  An' dinna catch haud too tight o' the line."

Max was too confused to obey his instructions, but, fortunately, he did
the right thing.  For the fish darted away so furiously that the lad
loosed his hold upon the line to a great extent, and contented himself
by keeping the hard plait close to the rod, so that it was checked a
good deal in running through his hand.  But all the same the winch began
to sing, as, after two or three more darts, the fish dashed off out of
the pool and down the stream.

The checking it received was greater than would have been dealt out by
an experienced fisher, and the result was that, after darting down about
forty yards, the salmon reached another pool, where, after it had sailed
round two or three times, there was a sudden cessation of movement, and
a dead weight hung at the end of the line.

"She's got the line around a stane," cried Tavish, running over the
stepping-stones, gaff in hand.  "She'll lose the fush! she'll lose the
fush."

"Has it gone?" asked Max rather piteously.

"Let her tak' a grip o' the rod, my lad," said the forester; and,
catching the long supple wand from the boy's hand, he stood thinking for
a few moments winding in a few yards of the line.

"Nay, she's on safe," he cried, handing the rod back to Max.

"What shall I do now?" said Max nervously.

"She shall play ta fush till she's tired, and then she will use the
gaff."

"But I'm tired now."

"But ta fush isna tired, laddie.  Wind in, and keep a tight line."

To Max's wonder, Tavish went back ashore, and ran down the bank past
Kenneth and Scood, to begin picking up big stones and hurling them right
into the middle of the pool, so as to disturb the fish, which lay
sulking at the bottom, in spite of the steady strain kept on its head.

Tavish's efforts were, however, unsuccessful, and in his excitement the
forester began to abuse the salmon, calling upon it to move.

At last, though, as Max stood upon his tiny rock island with his rod
bent, gazing wistfully down at the pool, Tavish sent in a great piece of
slaty shale, which fell with a great splash, and then began to zigzag
down through the dark water with so good a movement, that it touched the
fish on the flank and started it off once more.

"Haud up ta rod! haud up ta rod!" cried Tavish.

"Hooray, Max! you'll have it now," cried Kenneth; and all watched the
fisherman now with the greatest interest, as the salmon darted here and
there, sometimes with a good stress on the rod, often, in spite of
Tavish's adjurations, with a loose line, for when it rushed toward the
holder of the butt, Max could not be quick enough with the winch.

Now it was one side of the pool, now close in, and Max's excitement
increased till he reached fever heat, and then something happened.

The fish had rushed right up toward him, as if about to seek the upper
pool, in which it had been hooked, when, apparently feeling itself free,
from the pressure being taken off as Max wound up rapidly, the prize
turned suddenly, leaped out, giving the water a sounding slap with its
tail, and then darted off down the river.

"Haud your rod up!  Haud your rod up!" cried Tavish frantically; but Max
did not respond this time, and the result was that there came a sudden
snatch, as it were, at the rod, the winch sung for a moment, and as Max
tried to stop it, he had his finger pinched.

He had not time to think of that, though, for the next instant there was
a sharp snatch and a heavy jerk which drew his arms out, and, before he
could recover himself, he lost his balance and went headlong into the
pool, while as he rose it was right in the full rush of the stream,
which rolled him over, and, after tangling him in his line, before the
boy could realise the position, he was being swept away rapidly down
toward the sea loch a couple of miles below.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

"TWA-AN'-TWENTY PUN'."

It was a curious sensation, but, in spite of the danger, Max Blande felt
no fear.  One moment he was below the surface, the next he was in some
shallow, being rolled over by the rushing water and carried here and
there.  He was conscious of catching at the masses of rock against which
he struck, but they were slippery, and his hands glided over them.

Now he had his head above water for a few moments, and caught a few
panting breaths as, in the wild confusion, noise of the water, and the
dizzy, wildering state of his brain, he fought for life.  Then the river
surged against, and seemed to leap at him, as if to sweep him right away
as something which cumbered the easy flow, and proved more manageable
than the blocks of stone which broke up the river into a hundred
streams.

And all through his rapid progress downward, Max was conscious of
something tugging at, and jerking him away whenever he strove to catch
hold of the nearest stone, till, what with the scalding, strangling
sensation in his nostrils, the deadening feeling of helplessness and
weakness coming over him rapidly, all seemed to be darkening into the
semblance of a feverish dream, from which he was roused by a fresh jerk.

As soon as he could draw a breath which did not choke and make him cough
painfully, he found that he was gazing up in the face of the great
forester, who was holding him in some way, as he stood upon a stone,
while the water kept on dragging and striving to bear him away.

"Oh, she's cot the puir laddie richt.  You come here and tak' a grip o'
the gaff handle, Master Kenneth, an' she'll have her oot."

The confusion was passing over, and Max could see more clearly, as
Kenneth came wading out through the rushing water to the stone upon
which Tavish stood.

"He's all right, Tav," cried Kenneth, whose serious face gradually grew
mirthful.  "Give us hold."

The forester passed the gaff handle, and, as soon as Kenneth had it
tightly, stepped down into the torrent up to his waist, and began to
wade.

"Keep a tight haud," he cried.

"I've got him," said Kenneth.  "Look here, Scood, here's a fish."

"Ye canna see the fush," said Tavish excitedly.  "She wouldna lose that
saumon now for twa pun'."

Max was thoroughly awake now to the fact that the gaff hook was through
the collar of his jacket, and that the stream seemed to keep on tugging
at him, to get him free.

Perilous as was his position, seeming as it did to him that his life
depended on the secure hold of the hook in the cloth of his jacket, he
could not help feeling some annoyance that Kenneth and the forester
should talk laughingly about him, as if he were a fish.

But he had no time to think of self, for Tavish had waded below him, and
passed his arm about his waist.

"Got the line, Tav?" cried Kenneth.

"Ay, she's cot ta line, and ta fush is on, but what a sorry tangle she's
in, wrapped roond and roond the laddie, and ta most peautiful rod we've
cot proke in twa.  Here, Scood, come and tak' haud o' ta rod, while we
ket him on ta stane."

Scood came wading toward them, holding on by the rocks, for the pressure
of the water was sufficient to have taken him off his legs; and now, for
the first time, Max awoke to the fact that he was holding tightly to the
rod, which had snapped in two just above the bottom joint, and that the
stout salmon line was about his body, while the top portion of the rod
was some distance away along the line, kept in place by the rings.

"Hae a care, laddie--hae a care!" cried Tavish.  "Cot ta rod, Scood?"

"Yes; but ta line's all about him."

"Never mind tat.  Noo I'll help ye.  Let's ket her on to ta rock."

Max made some effort to help himself, but he was tied up, and he had to
submit while the forester lifted and Kenneth pulled him out.

"Noo she's richt," cried Tavish.

"No, no; let's get him ashore."

"Without ta fush!" cried Tavish indignantly.  "D'ye think ta laddie
would like to lose ta fush aifter a rin like tat?"

He shook his head and thrust his bared arm down into the water, as Max
sat shivering on the rock.

"Why, ta line's doon here aboot ta laddie's legs," cried Tavish, rising
up with the strong fine plait in his hand.  "Noo, Scood, stan' awa.
She's richt noo, Maister Kenneth; so rin ashore again, and go below to
yon stane.  She'll try to bring ta fush in for ye to gaff her there.  Or
would ta Southron chentleman like to gaff her fush her nainsel?"

"No, no," said Max, with a shiver.  "I want to get ashore."

"I wouldn't lose a fush like that for twa pun'!" cried Tavish again;
and, as Kenneth stepped down into the water, gaff in hand, waded ashore,
and ran downward among the rocks, dripping like an otter, Tavish slowly
waded to bank, drawing the line slowly and carefully, and passing it
through his hands.

"See him yet, Tav?" cried Kenneth from where he stood out in the stream.
"Sure he's on?"

"Ay, she can feel her.  It's a gran' fush, Maister Kenneth, but ta whole
hundred yairds o' line was rin off ta reel.  She wouldna lose ta fush
for twa pun'."

As he spoke he manipulated the line very cleverly, drawing it in foot by
foot, and then letting it go again as the fish made a rush, but only for
the line to be steadily drawn upon again, so as if possible to manoeuvre
the captive close to the rock where Kenneth stood, gaff hook in hand,
ready to strike.

"Oh, it's a gran' fush!" cried Scood excitedly, as he ceased from
freeing Max from the line, and looked on.

For the fish was not yet wearied out, and made a brave struggle for
freedom, but, in spite of its efforts and the chances in its favour, the
forester only having the line, and no springy rod with its playing
power, the end seemed to be drawing nigh.  Again and again it was drawn
towards Kenneth, and again and again it dashed away, the man letting the
line run; but every time he had more line in hand, and the salmon's
tether grew more short.

"Hey, but she's well hookit!" cried Tavish; "and she wouldna lose that
fush for ten pun'."

There was another rush, and a great bar of silver flashed out into the
sunshine and fell with a splash upon a black stone half covered with
foam.

"Leuk at that, maister," cried Scood excitedly.

It was a momentary look, for the fish gave a flap with its tail and
glided off into deep water, and made a fresh dash for liberty.

There was a steady draw of the line, though, and Tavish waded slowly
more in-shore.

"That will do it, Tavvy," shouted Kenneth, as the fish was drawn very
close to the rock upon which he stood.  "No, he's off again."

"Ay, she's a gran' fush," cried the forester; "and she wouldna lose her
noo for fifty pun'."

Away went the salmon, taking out more line than ever this time, the
water dripping like a shower of diamonds from the keeper's fingers, as
the fine silk plait ran through his hands.

"Can ye set any more free, Scood?" he cried.

"Na; it's a' of a tangly twiss," cried Scood.

"Then we'll hae her the noo.  Leuk oot, Maister Ken.  She's coming
richt."

Tavish steadily drew in the line, and this time the salmon came well
within Kenneth's reach.

Max, in spite of his chilly sensations, sat watching intently, the
excitement gaining upon him, and, in the midst of a breathless pause,
Kenneth was seen to bend a little lower with outstretched hands, to
straighten himself suddenly, and then step down into the shallow water
and run splashing ashore, dragging after him a glistening salmon right
up on to the rugged, grassy shore, where the silvery prize made a few
spasmodic leaps, and then lay shining in the sun.

"Hooray!" shouted Kenneth, waving the gaff.

"Hey, hey, hey!" roared Scood, dancing about in the water and splashing
Max.

"Hey hi!" roared Tavish, wading toward the rock where Max was seated.
"She's a gran' fush, and she wouldna ha' lost her for twa hundert pun'.
There, laddie," he continued, as he reached Max, "ye heukit her
wunnerful; and ye've caught the gran'est fush this year.  She's
twa-an'-twenty pun'.  Come along."

"How shall I get ashore?" said Max, with a shiver.

"Stan' up, laddie, and get on my pack.  Nivver mind a drap o' watter.
Maister Ken there's got the whusky, and we'll christen ta fush and troon
a' ta colds in ta old kintra."

Max hesitated for a moment, and then, with some assistance, stood up,
and let himself be drawn on to the Highlander's back.

"I shall make you so wet," he said apologetically.

"Ant ta whusky'll mak' us poth try," cried Tavish, laughing.  "Why,
ye're tied up in a knot, laddie, and ye've proke ta pest rod; and pring
it along, Scoody lad, and ton't get ta line roond ta stanes."

"I'm very sorry I broke the rod," said Max apologetically again.

"Nivver mind ta rod; it's her nainsel' as can ment any rod.  We've
caught a wunnerfu' saumon, laddie.  She's a gran' fush.  There, noo,
we'll get ye oot o' the tangle.  What is she, Maister Kenneth--
twa-an'-twenty pun'?"

"Five-and-twenty," cried Kenneth, as Max was deposited on the grass.

"Na, na; twa-an'-twenty pun'.  I ken the size," cried Tavish.  "Noo,
laddie, stan' still; and you, Scoody, tak' a haud of the reel, and walk
roond and roond till ye get all the line, and wind her up as ye go."

Scood took the reel, and went round, releasing Max from the bonds the
river had thrown about him in rolling him over and over, after which he
forgot his dripping state, and walked to where the salmon lay.

"Ye'll tak' joost a sma' taste, sir, to keep oot ta cold," said the
forester, offering the cup from the bottom of the flask to Max, who
shook his head.

"Mebbe ye're richt," said Tavish, tossing off the spirit; "it's a fine
hailsome trink for a grown man, but--Na, na, Scood, if ye're thirsty,
laddie, there's plenty coot watter in the river."

"Yes, don't give Scoody any," said Kenneth.

"Nay, Maister Kenneth, I winna gie him a taste.  Ye'll be takkin' a wee
drap yersel', I'm thenking?"

"Not I, Tavvy.  Now then, it's a twenty-five pounder, isn't it?"

Tavish wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, gazing thoughtfully
down at the salmon, after which he laid the butt of one of the
fishing-rods beside it, and compared the captive with a nick on the side
before drawing a piece of knotted string from his sporran, which had to
be taken off and drained, for it was half full of water.

"Nay," he said, as he knelt on one knee, after measuring the girth of
the fish with great deliberation, "I said twa-an'-twenty pun', Maister
Ken, but I'll gie ye anither pun'.  She's three-an'-twenty pun' barely."

"Five-and-twenty, Tavvy!"

"Nay, sir, three-an'-twenty, and not an ounce ower, and the laddie's
caught the best fush this year.  Noo then, I'm thenking I can show him
where there's anither.  Ye'll lend her your rod?"

"Oh yes.  Here you are, Max!"

"I think I would rather go home and change my wet things," said Max.

"Nivver mind a drap o' watter, laddie.  Watter like this winna gie you
cauld.  Have a gude rin, and then--"

"Not to-day, Tav," said Kenneth.  "We're all wet through, so let's go
back.  Who's going to carry the twenty-five pound salmon?"

"Ta fush weighs three-an'-twenty pun' and nae mair, Maister Kenneth."

"Ah, well, we'll see as soon as we get back," said Kenneth; and back
they tramped to Long Shon's bothy, that worthy sitting at the door
smoking a pipe, and smiling broadly as he saw his son approaching with
the goodly fish, the circulation brought by the walk having chased away
the sensation of cold.

"Here, Shon, weigh this fish," cried Kenneth imperiously.

"Ask Tavish," was the reply.  "He'll tell you to a pound, sir."

"I tell you I want you to weigh it," cried Kenneth and Shon rose to his
feet, to stand not much higher than he sat, and, taking the fish, he
bore it into the place where he cut up and packed the haunches of
venison.  There the capture was hung upon one of the hooks of the
steelyard.

"Now, Tavish, look," cried Kenneth triumphantly.  "Five-and-twenty
pounds if it's an ounce."

"Three-an'-twenty, and hardly that," said Tavish firmly.  "Noo, Shon,
what does she scale?"

"Twa-an'-twenty pun' an' three-quairters," said Long Shon.

"Oh!" exclaimed Kenneth, in a disappointed tone.

"An' ta finest fush o' the season, laddie," cried Tavish triumphantly.
"And noo, if ye winna hae a drappie, go and tak' aff the wat claes, for
too much watter is bad for a man, even if the watter's coot."



CHAPTER TWELVE.

A LESSON FROM MAX.

"Caught a twenty-two-pound salmon, eh?" said The Mackhai, looking up
from a letter he was reading.

"He thinks he caught it, father," said Kenneth, laughing; and, as they
stood waiting in the dining-room, the boy related the adventure of the
day, and how they had, after changing, gone for a long tramp across the
mountain slope, and chased the hares.  "Well, be civil to him, Ken.
Remember we are gentlemen.  And even if he is the son of a miserable
shark of a lawyer, let his father learn that the Mackhais can do good
for evil."

Kenneth stared wonderingly in his father's face.  "What does it all
mean?" he thought, and he noted the lines of trouble and annoyance
deepening as The Mackhai let his eye fall upon his letter once more.

"My father must hate his father," thought Kenneth; "and he is too much
of a gentleman to show his dislike to his son.  Why does he have him
here, then?  A stupid, girlish muff of a fellow!  One's obliged to laugh
at him, poor beggar!"

The Mackhai doubled up his letter angrily, and thrust it into his
pocket.

"Did that boy hear the gong?" he said peevishly.

"I don't know, father.  Shall I run up to his room?"

"No, certainly not.  Treat him as you would any other visitor, but you
are not his gillie.  Ring, and send Grant."

The bell was touched: the butler entered directly.

"The young gentleman is not down yet, sir."

"Well, I know that," said his master sharply.  "Go and tell him we are
waiting dinner."

The butler, as he turned, looked as if he would like to give notice to
leave on the spot, but he said nothing, and left the room.

"It is a gross want of courtesy!" muttered The Mackhai angrily.  "Am I
to be kept waiting by the son of a miserable pettifogging scoundrel of a
London lawyer?  The beginning of the end, Ken, I suppose!" he added
bitterly.

"I don't know what you mean, father."

"Wait.  You'll know quite soon enough, my boy.  Too soon, I'm afraid,
and then--"

The door was thrown open by the butler with a flourish, and he stood
back holding it wide for Max to enter, looking very thin and scraggy, in
a glossy new evening suit, with tight patent leather boots, handkerchief
in one hand, new white gloves in the other.

The Mackhai's brow contracted, and Kenneth gave his left leg a kick with
his right heel, so as to stop an inclination to laugh.

"I--I have--I have not kept you waiting?" faltered Max.

"Not very long," said The Mackhai coldly; "but we always sit down to
meals directly the gong has sounded."

The butler left the room.

"I am very sorry," faltered Max; "but I got so wet for the second time
to-day, that I thought I had better have a warm bath."

"Indeed!" said The Mackhai coldly.  "Oh my, what a molly!" muttered
Kenneth.  "My father told me to be careful," continued Max.

"Pray follow out your father's advice," said The Mackhai, "and consider
that you are quite at home here."

"How jolly sarcastic father is!" thought Kenneth.

"Thank you," said Max politely.

"While this place is mine, I wish my guests to be quite at their ease,"
continued The Mackhai; "but you will excuse me for saying that we never
dress for dinner."

"No, I thought not," said Max confusedly; "but I made myself so wet, and
my other suits were in the small portmanteau, and I've lost the key."

That dinner was hot, but very cold, and Max felt exceedingly glad when
it was over.  His host tried to be polite, and asked questions about the
salmon-catching, but Max spoke in a hesitating way, and as if he thought
he was being laughed at, and it was with a feeling of intense relief
that he ceased to hear his host's voice, and escaped from the stony gaze
of the butler, who, under an aspect of the most profound respect, seemed
to glare at the visitor with a virulent look of hatred.

"They don't seem to like me at all down here," thought Max, as they rose
from the table.

"I wonder what's the matter," thought Kenneth.  "I never saw father seem
so severe before."

Just then, looking very stern and out of temper, The Mackhai left the
room, and Kenneth, after a moment's hesitation, went after him; but
changed his mind directly, and returned to Max.

"I beg your pardon," he said.  "Father does not seem to be well."

"I am sorry.  I'm afraid he was put out because I kept you waiting."

"Oh, never mind that.  I say, we can't go out with you like that, and
it's such a jolly night.  I don't know, though, if you put on an
ulster."

"I think I would rather not go out any more tonight," said Max,
hesitating.

"All right.  Then we'll go and have a game at billiards.  Come along."

This was more to Max's taste, and, after Grant had been summoned to help
light the lamps, Kenneth shut the door, chuckling to himself about the
big beating he was going to give the Londoner, who, instead of taking a
cue, was gazing round the handsome billiard-room at the crossed
claymores, targes, and heads of red deer, whose antlers formed rests for
spears and specimens of weapons from all parts of the world.

"Are those swords sharp?" asked Max.

"Sharp?  Yes, I should think they are.  They're the claymores my
ancestors used to handle to cut off the heads of the Macleods and
Macdougals."

"Used there to be much fighting then?"

"Fighting?  I should think there was.  Every chief lived in a castle and
had a galley, and they used to fill them half full of pipers and half
full of fighting men, and go to war with their neighbours."

"It must have been very terrible."

"Not a bit of it.  Very jolly--much better than living in these tame
times.  Come along; you break."

Max played first, and handled his cue so easily that Kenneth stared.

"Hallo!" he said, "you've played before."

"Yes; we have a billiard-table at home."

"Oh!" ejaculated Kenneth, and the big beating did not seem so near.  Not
that it proved to be more distant, only it was the other way on, for Max
played quietly and respectably, keeping up a steady scoring, while
Kenneth's idea seemed to be that the best way was to hit the balls hard,
so that they might chance to go somewhere.

This they did, but not so as to add to his score, and the consequence
was that, when Max marked a hundred, Kenneth was only thirty-three.

"Oh, I say!" he exclaimed, "I didn't know you could play like that."

"I often have a game with my father," said Max.  "He always gives me
fifty out of a hundred, and he can beat me, but he lets me win
sometimes."

Kenneth whistled.

"I say," he said, "your father must be a very clever man."

"Yes," said Max, in a dull, quiet way, "I think he is very clever."

"You don't seem very much pleased about it."

"I'm afraid I'm very tired.  It has been such a hard day."

"Hard! that's nothing.  You wait till your legs get trained, you won't
think this a hard day."

"I'm afraid I shan't be down here long enough for that."

"Oh, you don't know.  Let's have another game, and see if I can't beat
you this time.  Only, mind, none of your father's tricks."

Max started and turned scarlet.

"I mean, you will try."

"Of course," said Max; "I don't think it would be fair not to try one's
best."

They played, and Kenneth came off worse.

They played again, and he was worse still; while, after the fourth game,
he threw down his cue pettishly.

"It's of no use for me to play you.  Why, you're a regular
out-and-outer."

"Nonsense!  These strokes are easy enough.  Let me show you.  Look at
the things you can do that I can't."

"You show me how to make those strokes, and I'll show you everything I
know."

"I'll show you without making you promise that," said Max
good-humouredly; and the rest of the evening was spent over the board,
which they only quitted to say "good-night" and retire to their rooms;
but Kenneth did not go to his until he had been to the butler's pantry,
and then to the kitchen, which was empty, the servants having retired
for the night, after banking up the fire with peat, which would go on
smouldering and glowing for the rest of the night, and only want
stirring in the morning to burst into a blaze.

There was something very suspicious in Kenneth's movements as he crossed
the kitchen in the faint glow, and a great tom-cat glowered at him as he
stole away to the fireside and watched.

At one moment it seemed as if Kenneth was going to the larder to make a
raid upon the provisions, but he stopped short of that door, and stood
listening, and started violently as a sudden sound smote his ear.

It was the start of one troubled with a guilty conscience, for the sound
was only a sharp tack made by the great clock, preliminary to its
striking eleven.

"How stupid!" muttered Kenneth; and then he started again, for he heard
a door close rather loudly.

"Father!" he muttered, and he ran to the entry and listened again,
before going cautiously to the fire, where he suddenly made two or three
snatches of a very suspicious character, and hurried out of the kitchen
along a stone passage.  Then all was silent about the place, save the
lapping and splashing of the water among the rocks outside.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

AN UNCOMFORTABLE BREAKFAST.

That same night Max fell fast asleep as soon as he was in bed, for never
in his career had he used his muscles so much in one day.

His rest was dreamless, but he awoke as the turret clock struck six, and
lay thinking.

It was a glorious morning, for his window was illumined by the sunshine,
and he felt warm and comfortable, but all the same he shivered.

For a troublesome thought had come to him, and he lay quite sleepless
now, listening for Kenneth's step, feeling quite certain that before
many minutes had passed the lad would be hammering at his door, and
summoning him to come down and bathe.

He shuddered at the idea, for the thought of what he had passed
through--the climb down to the cavern with its crystal cold water, the
weed-hung rocks, and the plunge, and the way in which he had been given
his first lesson in swimming--brought out the perspiration in a cold dew
upon his brow.

"I will not go again," he said to himself.  "One ought to be half a fish
to live in a place like this."

The banging of a door and footsteps were heard.

"Here he comes!" muttered Max, and by an involuntary action he caught
hold of the bedclothes and drew them tightly up to his chin.

No Kenneth.

The sun shone brightly, and he could picture the dazzling sheen of the
waves as they rippled and flashed.  He could picture, too, the
golden-brown seaweed and the creamy-drab barnacles on the rocks which
had felt so rough and strange to his bare feet.

Then a reaction set in.  It was so cowardly to refuse to go, and Kenneth
and Scood would laugh at him, while to his sensitive nature the jeering
would be more painful than the venturing into the water.

"But," he argued to himself, "there is no danger in being laughed at,
and, on the other hand, they might get me out--they are so reckless--and
drown me."

He shuddered, and then he felt ashamed.  He wanted to be as brave as the
other lads, and he felt that he must seem to them a miserable coward.

"I'm down here, and with the chance of learning all these out-door
sports, and I shall try.  I will not be so cowardly, and when Kenneth
comes I'll go down and bathe, and try to master all this horrid fright."

As soon as he had bravely come to this determination he felt better,
though all of a tremor the while, and his agitation increased as from
time to time he heard a sound which his excited imagination told him was
the coming of Kenneth.

But he did not spring out of bed and begin to dress, so as to be ready
when Kenneth came, but lay feeling now uncomfortably hot as he recalled
his previous experience in the water, and his terrible--as he termed
it--adventure over the fishing, and his being hooked out by Tavish, but
all the time he could not help a half suspicion taking root, that, had
he been a quick, active lad, accustomed to such things, he would not
have been swept off the rock, and, even if he had been, he would have
struggled to some shallow place and recovered himself.

"I will try!" he said aloud.  "I'll show him that if I am a coward, I am
going to master it, and then perhaps they will not tease me and laugh at
me so much."

Kenneth did not come, and, in spite of his determination, the boy could
not help feeling relieved, as he lay thinking of what a long time it
seemed since he came down there, and what adventures he had gone
through.

Then there were footsteps, and a bang outside the door.

Kenneth at last!

No; the steps were not like his, and they were going away.  It was some
one who had brought his boots.

Max lay and thought again about the people he had met,--about The
Mackhai, and his haughty, distant manner.  He did not seem to like his
visitor, and yet he was very polite.

"Perhaps he doesn't like my father," thought Max sadly.  "Perhaps--"

Perhaps it was being more at ease after his determination to master his
cowardice:

Perhaps it was from the feeling of relief at the non-appearance of
Kenneth:

Perhaps it was from having undergone so much exertion on the previous
day:

Perhaps it was from the bed being so warm and comfortable:

Be all this as it may, Max Blande, instead of getting up, dropped off
fast asleep.

"Max!  I say, Max, do you know what time it is?"

Max started up in bed, and had hard work to collect his thoughts, as his
name was called again, and there was a loud knocking at the door.

"Yes, yes; coming!" cried the boy, leaping out of bed, and hurrying on
his dressing-gown.

"Open the door."

"Yes; I'm coming!"

Max opened the door, and Kenneth rushed in.

"Come, old lazy-bones!" he cried; "look sharp!  It's a quarter to nine,
and the dad will look dirks and daggers if we keep him waiting."

"I--I'm very sorry," said Max.  "I--I dropped off to sleep again.  I
thought you would come and call me to bathe."

"What was the use?  See what a fuss you made yesterday!"

"But I meant to come."

"Well, don't talk, old chap.  Look sharp, and dress."

"Yes; but are you going to stay?"

"Of course, to help you."

Max felt disposed to rebel, and thought it objectionable.

Kenneth saw his looks, and spoke out.

"Look here!" he said; "I'll wait for you in the passage, and look out of
the window."

"Oh, thank you!" cried Max, and the next moment he was alone.

In a few minutes Max's bell rang.

Kenneth went off on tip-toe, and met Grant, who was coming up-stairs
looking rather sulky.

Kenneth said something to the butler, who nodded and went down again,
while Kenneth went softly back grinning, and stood looking out of the
passage window, giving one leg a kick of delight as he heard Max's bell
ring again.

Then there was a pause, and at last the bell rang once more.

"Ten minutes to nine," said Kenneth to himself, with a look of
suppressed glee.

Then Max's door opened.

"Ready?" cried Kenneth.

"No.  I'm very sorry, but I've rung three times, and no one has come."

"P'r'aps Grant is busy with father.  What do you want--hot water?"

"No," said Max.  "The fact is, I got two pairs of trousers very wet
yesterday, and I sent them down to be dried.  They haven't been brought
up."

"Oh, is that all?" cried Kenneth.  "I'll run and fetch them."

"Oh, thank you!"

Kenneth ran off, and came back at the end of a few minutes, but without
the trousers.

"Thank you," said Max hastily.  "I'm ashamed to have let--Why, you
haven't got them!"

"No," said Kenneth.  "Are you sure you sent them down?  Grant says he
hasn't seen them."

"I gave them to one of the maids."

"It's very strange.  No one has seen them.  Never mind.  Jump into
another pair.  The guv'nor will be furious if you are late."

"But I've lost the key of my portmanteau, and I can't put on black this
morning."

"Oh no, that would never do!" cried Kenneth.  "Pop on your
knickerbockers."

"I haven't any."

"No knicks!  Oh, I say! what will you do?  That blessed gong will be
going directly."

"Yes.  Shall I put on my dress things?"

"No, no, no!  You'd make the pater laugh horribly.  Here, I tell you
what! you and I are about the same size--shall I lend you some of my
duds?"

"Oh, if you would!" cried Max.

"All right!"

Kenneth dashed off to his own room, and came back in a minute.

"Here you are!" he cried.  "Slip on those socks."

"But I've got socks."

"But they won't do.  On with these."

"But--"

"On with them.  The gong will go directly."

Horribly scared at the idea of keeping The Mackhai waiting again, Max
obeyed, hardly knowing what he did, and then he made a protest as
Kenneth held out a garment for him to put on next.

"Oh," he exclaimed, "I couldn't put on that!"

"But you must.  You haven't a moment to spare; and it's my best one."

Max shrank, and then yielded, for all at once boom! boom! boom! sounded
the gong; and, half frantic with haste and his want of moral courage,
the poor boy submitted to the domination of his tormentor, with the
result that, five minutes after the gong had ceased, and still
hesitating as to whether he had not better stay away, Max followed
Kenneth down-stairs, that young gentleman having preceded him two
minutes.

"The Mackhai is beginning breakfast, sir," said Grant, as Max came down;
and he drew back with a tray full of hot viands, his sour, stony face
relaxing into a grin as the shrinking figure of the young guest passed
him.

"Good morning, Mr Blande!" said The Mackhai sternly; and then his
severe face underwent a change.  He was about to burst out laughing, but
he bit his lip, frowned, and then in a changed tone of voice said,
"Thank you for the compliment, Mr Blande."

"It--it was not meant for a compliment, sir," faltered Max.

"Indeed!  I thought you had donned our tartan out of compliment to your
host."

"It is an accident, sir," stammered Max, with his face scarlet.  "I have
lost my clothes, and Kenneth has been kind enough to lend me a suit."

"Oh, I see!" said The Mackhai, as the dogs, which for a treat had been
admitted, came sniffing round the shivering lad, who looked pitiably
thin and miserable in the kilt, with the sporran hanging down far lower
than it should.

"It is a very comfortable dress," said The Mackhai, recovering himself,
though, to Kenneth's delight and Max's misery, he could not repress a
smile.  "There, pray, sit down, the breakfast is growing cold."

Max went to his place shrinkingly, for Bruce, the great deerhound, was
following close behind him, apparently examining him thoughtfully.

"Lie down, Bruce!" said Kenneth, and the dog dropped into a couching
attitude.  "You look fizzing, Max," he said, in a low voice, as his
father walked to the window and peered out.

Max gave him a piteous look, and gladly seated himself, seeming glad of
the shelter of the hanging tablecloth, for, after examining him
wonderingly, Sneeshing suddenly set up his tail very stiffly and uttered
a sharp bark, while Dirk shook his frill out about his neck and uttered
a menacing growl, which to poor Max's ears sounded like, "You miserable
impostor, get out of those things!"

Just then Grant entered with the portion of the breakfast kept back till
Max came down, The Mackhai seated himself, and the breakfast began.

As at previous meals, the host was very much abstracted: when he was not
partaking of his breakfast, he was reading his letters or referring to
the newspaper, leaving the task of entertaining the guest to his son.

"How do you feel now?" said Kenneth.

"Not very comfortable," whispered Max.  "May I ask Grant to have a good
search made for my things?"

"Oh no, don't ask him now.  It puts him out.  You'll be all right, and
forget all about them soon."

"I--I don't think I shall," said Max, as he made a very poor breakfast.

"Oh yes, you will.  I say, if I were you, I'd write up to my tailor to
send you down two rigs-out like that.  You'll find 'em splendid for
shooting and fishing."

Max shook his head.

"Never mind.  Have some of this kipper, it's--"

"Ow!" ejaculated Max, dropping his coffee-cup on the table, so that it
upset, and the brown fluid began to spread, as the lad sprang back from
the table.

"What's the matter?" cried The Mackhai.

"Nothing, sir;--I--that is--that dog--"

Kenneth was seized with a violent fit of laughing and choking, which
necessitated his getting up from the table and being thumped on the back
by Grant; while Dirk, who had been the cause of all the trouble, marched
slowly out from under the table, and stood upon the hearthrug uttering a
low growl, and looking from one to the other of the boys, as if he felt
that they were insulting him.

"Look here, Kenneth, if you cannot behave yourself at table," cried The
Mackhai angrily, "you had better have your meals by yourself."

"I--I--oh dear!--oh, oh, oh!  I beg your pardon, father, I--oh, I say,
Max, don't look like that, or you'll kill me!" cried Kenneth, laughing
and choking more than ever.

"I beg your pardon, sir," said Max piteously.  "I'm afraid it was all my
fault;" and he looked at the stained cloth.

"There is no need for any apology, Mr Blande.  Here, Grant, lay a
doubled napkin over this place, and bring another cup.  Pray sit down,
sir."

Max turned shrinkingly toward the table, but glanced nervously from one
dog to the other, and just at that moment, Bruce, who was behind, smelt
his legs.

"Oh!" cried Max, making a rush, as he felt the touch of the dog's cold
nose.

"Here, Kenneth, I've said before that I will not have those dogs in the
dining-room!" cried The Mackhai angrily.  "Turn them out."

Kenneth hastily obeyed, the dogs marching out through the French window,
and then sitting down outside and looking patiently in, as dogs gaze who
are waiting for bones.

"What was the matter, Max?" asked Kenneth, as soon as they were
re-seated, and the breakfast once more in progress.

"That dog took hold of my leg."

"What, Sneeshing?"

"No, no.  The one you call Dirk."

"He must have thought it was a sheep's leg."

"Kenneth!"

"Yes, father?"

"Go on with your breakfast.  I hope you are not hurt, Mr Blande?"

"No, sir, not hurt, but it felt very wet and uncomfortable."

"The dog's play," said The Mackhai quietly.  "I don't think he would
bite."

"No, sir, I hope not," faltered Max, as he tried to go on with his
breakfast; "but it felt as if he was going to, and it was startling."

"Yes, of course!" said The Mackhai absently, as he took up his paper,
and the breakfast went on to the end, but to Max it was anything but a
pleasant meal.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

MACRIMMON'S LAMENT.

"No, sir, I've asked everybody, and no one has seen them since Bridget
put them to dry.  She says they were in front of the fire when she went
to bed."

This was Grant's reply to Max's earnest prayer that he would try and
find his trousers.

"Do you think they could have been stolen?" said Max doubtingly.

"Stolen!  My goodness, sir! do you think there is any one about this
house who would steal young gentlemen's trousers?"

"Oh no, of course not," said Max; "but could you get a man to pick a
lock?"

"Pick a pocket, sir!" cried Grant indignantly, for he had not fully
caught Max's question.

"No, no--a lock.  I lost the key of my small portmanteau as I came here,
and I can't get at my clothes."

"No, sir, there is no one nearer than Stirling that we could get to do
that."

"Oh, never mind, Max," cried Kenneth, coming in after leaving his
visitor for some little time in the drawing-room; "the trousers'll turn
up soon, and if they don't, you'll do as you are.  He looks fizzing,
don't he, Granty?"

"Yes, sir, that he do," replied the butler, compressing his lips into a
thin line.

"Only his legs look just a little too white," continued Kenneth.

"You are both laughing at me," said Max sadly.

"No, no, nonsense!  There, come on out."

"Like this?"

"Of course.  It's no worse for you than it is for me.  Come along."

Max felt as if he could not help himself, and, yielding to the pressure,
he followed his young host out on to the terrace-like rock, where they
were joined by Scoodrach, who came up with his eyes so wide open that
they showed the whites all round.

As the red-headed lad came up, he essayed to speak, but only made an
explosive sound.

"Look here, Scood, if you laugh, Max Blande will pitch you overboard.
Now then, what is it?"

"Tonald--"

"Well, what about Donald?"

"She's chust waitin' for the young chentleman."

"Where?"

"In ta castle yaird."

"What does he want?" said Kenneth seriously.  "Here, Max, let's go and
see."

Max was not sorry to follow his young host into the shelter of the
castle ruins, for there was a good deal of breeze off the sea; and, as
soon as the three lads were in the shady quadrangle, old Donald Dhu came
out of the ruined entry at the corner tower he affected.

As soon as the old man was well outside, he stood shading his dim eyes
with one bony hand, bending forward and gazing at Max, looking him up
and down in a way which was most embarrassing to the visitor, but which
made the boys' eyes sparkle with delight.

Max felt ready to run back to his room and lock himself in, but, to his
relief, the old man did not burst into a fit of laughing, for a grave
smile overspread his venerable face.

"She wass a prave poy," he said, laying a claw-like hand upon Max's
shoulder, "and she shall wear ta kilt petter some day."

Then, motioning to him mysteriously with his free hand, he beckoned him
slowly toward the entry to the spiral staircase, and Max yielded, though
he longed to escape.

"What does he want, Kenneth?"

"Got something to say to you, I suppose.  Don't be long, and we'll have
the boat ready for a sail."

"But--"

"I say, don't stop talking; it may make the old boy wild, and if you
do--"

Kenneth did not finish his sentence, but made a peculiar cluck with his
tongue--a sound which might have meant anything.

All this time the old man stood, with his flowing white locks and beard,
motioning to Max to come; and unwillingly enough he entered the old
tower, and climbed cautiously up, avoiding the broken places, and
finally reaching the chamber in the top.

"She shall sit town there," said the old man, pointing to a stool set in
the ruinous fireplace; and, without the slightest idea of what was going
to happen, Max seated himself and waited to hear what the piper had to
say.

He was not kept long in suspense, for the old man said, with a
benevolent look on his ancient face,--

"She lo'es ta pipes, and she shall hear them the noo, for they're mentit
up, and tere's nae music like them in ta wide world."

As he spoke, he raised the lid of a worm-eaten old chest, and, smiling
the while, took out the instrument, placed the green baize-covered bag
under one arm, arranged the long pipes over his shoulder, and, inflating
his cheeks, seemed to mount guard over the doorway, making Max a
complete prisoner, and sending a thrill of misery through him, as, after
producing a few sounds, the old man took the mouthpiece from his lips,
and said, with a smile,--

"`Macrimmon's Lament.'"

Max felt as if he should like to stick his fingers in his ears, but he
dared not,--as if he should like to rush down the stairs, but he could
not.  For the old man fixed him with his eyes, and, keeping his head
turned towards his prisoner, began to march up and down the broken stone
floor, and blew so wild a dirge that in a few moments it became almost
maddening.

For Max Blande's nerves, from the retired London life he had led, were
sensitive to a degree.  He had never had them strung up by open-air
sports or life among the hills, but had passed his time in study,
reading almost incessantly; though even to the ears of an athlete, if he
were shut up in a small chamber with a piper, the strains evoked from
this extremely penetrating instrument might jar.

As Donald marched up and down in a pace that was half trot, half dance,
his eyes brightened and sparkled; his yellow cheeks flushed as they were
puffed out; and, as he went to and fro before the window, the sea-breeze
made his long hair and beard stream out behind, giving him a wild, weird
aspect that was almost startling, as it helped to impress Max with a
feeling of awe which fixed him to his chair.  For if he dared to rise he
felt that he would be offering a deadly affront to the old minstrel, one
which, hot-blooded Highlander as he was, he might resent with his dirk,
or perhaps do him a mischief in a more simple manner, by spurning him
with his foot as he retreated--in other words, kick him down-stairs.

And those were such stairs!

Northern people praise the bagpipes, and your genuine Highlander would
sooner die than own it was not the "pravest" music ever made.  He will
tell you that to hear it to perfection you must have it on the mountain
side, or away upon some glorious Scottish loch.  This is the truth, for
undoubtedly the bagpipes are then at their best, and the farther off
upon the mountain, or the wider the loch, the better.

But Max was hearing the music in a bare-walled, echoing chamber, and,
but for the fact that there was hardly any roof, there is no saying what
might have been the consequences.  For Donald blew till his cheeks were
as tightly distended as the bag, while chanter and drone burred and
buzzed, and screamed and wailed, as if twin pigs were being ornamented
with nose-rings, and their affectionate mamma was all the time bemoaning
the sufferings of her offspring, "Macrimmon's Lament" might have been
the old piper's lamentation given forth in sorrow because obliged to
make so terribly ear-shrilling a noise.

But, like most things, it came to an end, and with a sigh of relief Max
sprang up to exclaim, as if he had been in a London drawing-room, and
some one had just obliged,--

"Oh, thank you!"

"She's a gran' chune," said Donald, pressing forward, and as it were
backing poor Max into the seat from which he had sprung.  "Noo she'll
gie ye `Ta Mairch o' ta Mackhais.'"

Max suppressed a groan, as the old man drew himself up and produced half
a dozen sonorous burring groans from the drone.

Then there was a pause, and Donald dropped the mouthpiece from his lips.

"She forgot to say tat she composed ta mairch in honour of the Chief
hersel'."

Then he blew up the bag again, and there came forth a tremendous wail,
wild and piercing, and making a curious shudder run up and down Max's
backbone, while directly after, as he was debating within himself
whether he might not make some excuse about Kenneth waiting, so as to
get away, the old man marched up and down, playing as proudly as if he
were at the head of a clan of fighting men.

All at once, sounding like an echo, there came from somewhere below a
piteous yell, long-drawn and wild, and doleful as the strains of the
pipes.

The effect was magical.  The old man ceased playing, his face grew
distorted, and he stamped furiously upon the floor.

"It's tat Sneeshing," he cried, laying down the pipes and making a
snatch at his dirk, but only to thrust it back, dart at a great stone
which had fallen in from the side of the window, and, seizing it, whirl
it up and dash it out of the broken opening down into the court where
the dog was howling.

There was a crash, a snapping, wailing howl, and then all was silent.

"She hopes she has killed ta tog," cried the old man, as he gathered up
his pipes again, and once more began to march up and down and blow.

The fierce burst of tempestuous rage and the accompanying actions were
not without their effect upon Max, who shrank back now helpless and
aghast, staring at the old piper, whose face grew smoother again, as he
gave his visitor an encouraging smile and played away with all his
might.

Would it never end--that weary, weary march--that long musical journey?
It was in a minor key, and anything more depressing it was impossible to
conceive.  Like the pieces played by WS Gilbert's piper, there was
nothing in it resembling an air, but Donald played on and on right to
the bitter end, when once more Max began to breathe, and again he
said,--

"Thank you."

"She hasn't tone yet," said Donald, smiling.  "She does not often ket a
young chentleman like yersel' who lo'es ta coot music, and she'll keep
on playing to ye all tay.  Ye shall noo hae something lively."

Before Max could speak, the old man blew away, and wailed and burred out
what was probably intended for "Maggie Lauder;" but this was changed
into "Tullochgorum," and back again, with frills, and puckers, and bows,
and streamers, formed of other airs, used to decorate what was evidently
meant for a grand _melange_ to display the capabilities of the national
instrument.

Just when this wonderful stream of maddening notes was at its highest
pitch, and Max Blande was at his lowest, and feeling as if he would like
to throw himself down upon the floor and cry, he became aware of the
fact that Kenneth and Scoodrach were up above, gazing down at him from
the ruined wall on the side where the chamber was roofless.

Old Donald was right below them and could not see, even had he been less
intent and out of his musical dreaming, instead of tramping up and down,
evidently supremely happy at the diversity of noises he made.

Max seized the opportunity of Donald's back being turned, and made a
sign to them to come down; but they only laughed, keeping their heads
just in sight, Scoodrach's disappearing and bobbing about from time to
time, as he grinned and threw up his fingers, and seemed to be going
through the motions of one dancing a reel.

Max would have shouted to them to come down, but at the thought of doing
so a feeling of nervous trepidation came over him.  Donald had looked
half wild when the dog interrupted him; how would he behave if he were
interrupted again, just as he was in this rapt state, and playing away
with all his might?

The lad subsided in his seat, and with wrinkled brow gazed from the
piper to the heads of the two boys, both of whom were laughing, and
evidently enjoying his misery.

And now for the first time it struck Max that he had been inveigled up
there through the planning of Kenneth, who knew his dislike to the
pipes, and had told Donald that he was anxious to hear him play.

His face must have been expressive, for Kenneth was laughing at him, and
whispered something to Scoodrach, who covered his mouth with his hands,
and seemed to roar to such an extent that he was obliged to bend down.

As Scoodrach reappeared, he climbed up so as to lie flat on the top of
the wall, leaning his head down when Donald came toward him, and raising
it again as the old man turned.

The medley of Scottish airs ceased, and at last Max thought his penance
was at an end, but in an instant the old man began again blowing hard,
and playing a few solemn notes before approaching quite close to Max,
taking his lips from the mouthpiece and whispering sharply,--

"Ta Dirge o' Dunloch."

Then whang! wha! on went the depressing strain Sneeshing being heard to
howl in the distance.

Max felt as if he must run, and in his despondency and horror, knowing
as he did that if he did not do something the old half-crazy piper would
keep him shut up there and play to him all day, he waited till Donald
had approached close to him, and, as the old man turned, he stretched
out a leg ready.  Then, waiting till he had been across the room, come
back, and was turning again, Max cautiously slipped off his seat, and
was about to dash for the door, when there was a shout, a scuffle, a
thud, an awful pipe yell, and Donald came staggering back, uttering a
series of wild Gaelic ejaculations in his surprise.

The cause of the interruption was plain enough: Scood had rolled off the
top of the wall feet first, clung with his hands, and in his efforts to
recover himself and get back he had kicked out one leg so sharply that
it had come in contact with the bag of the pipes, producing the wild
yell, and sending the old man staggering back.

As soon as he fully realised what was the matter, the old man uttered a
howl of rage, laid down his pipes, and rushed across at Scoodrach, who
had half scrambled back.

Donald's attack altered his position, for the old man seized him about
the hips by the kilt, and dragged at him to get him down, just as
Kenneth was holding him tightly and trying to pull him up, Scood
seconding his efforts by clinging to him with all his strength.

What followed did not take many moments, for Donald had every advantage
on his side.  He hauled, and Kenneth hauled, while Scood clung to his
companion with tremendous tenacity.

"Pull! pull!" shouted Scoodrach to Kenneth; but the latter could not
pull for laughing.  And besides, he had the whole of the young gillie's
weight to bear, while his foothold was exceedingly insecure.

The old piper uttered some fierce words in Gaelic, to which Scoodrach
replied in the same tongue; and then, finding how helpless he was, and
little likely to be drawn up while Donald was clinging to him, he drew
in his legs and then kicked them out again, like one swimming, or, a
better comparison, like a grasshopper in the act of taking a leap.

Scoodrach was as strong as one of the rough ponies of the place, while
old Donald's days for display of muscular strength had long gone by.
Consequently he was drawn to and fro as Scoodrach kicked, and was
finally thrown off, to go down backwards into a sitting position.

"Now pull, Maister Ken," shouted Scoodrach.  "Heave her up, or she'll
hae that mad blawblether at her again."

Kenneth pulled, laughing more than ever, as Scoodrach held on by his
jacket; and just then the gillie managed to get a foot in a hole whence
a stone had been dislodged.  Raising himself up a little, Kenneth now
began to pull in earnest; but it was too late.  Old Donald had struggled
up and seized Scoodrach once more, giving so heavy a drag upon him that
down came the young gillie, and not alone, for he dragged Kenneth with
him; and all three lay together in a struggling heap upon the floor.

"Rin, Maister Ken!  Rin, young chentleman!  Doon wi' ye!  She'll be like
a daft quey the noo.  I can haud her till ye get doon."

"No, no, Scood, I won't run!" cried Kenneth.  "You run, Max.  Get down
with you."

Max obeyed, glad of the opportunity for escape; but as soon as he had
passed through the door he turned, and looked in at the struggle going
on.

To his horror, they more than once drew so near to the hole in the floor
that it seemed as if they must go through; but they all wrenched
themselves clear, and Scoodrach suddenly got free, leaped up, and drew
his dirk.

"Oh!" cried Max in horror.

"Put away that knife, Scood, and run!" cried Kenneth.

"She'll niver rin frae ta auld piper!" cried Scoodrach; and, turning to
the box on which lay the pipes, he caught them up, and held them with
the point of his keen knife close to the skin bag.

"Noo," he shouted, "haud off an' let the young maister go, or I'll slit
the bag's weam."

"Ah!" shouted old Donald.

"Ay, but I will!" yelled Scoodrach, with the point of his keen knife
denting in the bag.

"Ah!" shouted the old piper again; and he made a movement toward the
boy.

But Scoodrach was too quick.  He stepped back, raised his arm, and
seemed about to plunge the knife through the green baize.

"She'll preak her heart," groaned the old piper.

"Shall she let her go, then?" cried Scoodrach.

The old man caught hold of his hair by handfuls and gave it a tremendous
tug.

"Don't cut, Scood," cried Kenneth.

"Go on down, and she shall come aifter.  She'll slit ta bahg oop if
Tonald ton't sit town."

The old man's breast heaved, and he gazed piteously at his instrument;
following Scoodrach slowly, as that young gentleman edged round by the
side of the wall till he reached the door, through which Kenneth had
passed, and where he was now standing holding on by Max, both being
intensely interested spectators of the scene.

"Rip her recht up," cried Scoodrach.  "Noo, Maister Kenneth, are ye
ready?"

"Yes."

"Down wi' ye, then.  He canna catch us there.  Noo, Tonald, catch."

He threw the pipes at the old man, and then darted through the narrow
opening, and followed the others down the spiral stairs at such a rate
that an accident seemed certain; but they reached the bottom in safety,
and stood at last in the courtyard, laughing and cheering.

"Tonal'!" shouted Scoodrach; and he added something in Gaelic.

The effect was to bring the old piper's head and shoulders out of the
narrow broken window opening, where he stood, hugging the pipes in one
hand, and shaking the other menacingly.

Then, changing his manner, he began to beckon with his great claw-like
hand.

"Nivver mind him, laddie.  Come up here and I'll play ye Macrimmon owre
again."

"No, no!" exclaimed Max earnestly.

"Says he's afraid you'd blow the roof off, Tonal'," shouted Kenneth.
"No time.  He's coming along with us;" and he led Max, to his very great
delight, out through the old arch on to the broad terrace by the sea.
But they had not gone many yards before they heard old Donald again
piping away, with no other audience but the jackdaws, which came and
settled near, and looked at him sideways, too much used to the wild
strains to be alarmed, and knowing from experience that the old piper
would pay no heed to them.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

BIRD-NESTING UNDER DIFFICULTIES.

"What shall we do?" said Kenneth.

Just as he spoke, Max made a jump and turned nimbly round, for
Sneeshing, who had not been touched by Donald's stone, had come
fidgeting round them, and had had a sniff at the visitor's legs.

"I say, Max, there must be something very nice about your legs," cried
Kenneth, laughing.  "Don't set the dog at me, please."

"I didn't.  It's only his way.  Here, what shall we do--fish?"

"Not to-day," said Max, giving involuntarily a rub of one white leg
against the other.

"Well, let's go and have a shot at something."

"I think I would rather not," pleaded Max, who looked with horror upon
the idea of tramping the mountain side clothed as he was.  "What do you
say to a sail, then?"

Max shivered as he recalled his sensations upon the ride from the
steamer; but there was a favourable side to such a trip--he could sit in
the boat and have a railway wrapper about him.

"Where would you go if we sailed?"

"Oh, anywhere.  Up the loch, over the firth, and through the sound.
Over to Inchkie Island.  We'll take the guns; we may get a shot at a
hare, hawk, or an eagle."

Max nodded.

"That's right.  Get down, Bruce! don't you get smelling his legs, or we
shall have him bobbing off into the sea."

The great deerhound, who was approaching in a very suspicious manner,
eyeing Max's thin legs, turned off, and, choosing a warm, smooth piece
of rock, lay down.

"Off you go, Scood, and bring the boat round.  Come on, Max, and let's
get the guns.  You can shoot, can't you?"

"I think so," said Max, as Scoodrach went off at a trot.

"You think so?"

"Yes.  I never fired a gun, but the man showed me how to load and take
aim, and it looks very easy."

"Oh yes, it looks very easy," said Kenneth dryly.  "You just hold the
gun to your shoulder and point at a bird.  Then you pull the trigger,
and down comes Dicky."

"Yes.  I went to see men shoot pigeons after I had bought my gun.  My
father said I had better."

"Oh, he said you had better, did he?"

Max nodded.

"And he thought that would do as well as shooting pigeons, for they come
expensive."

Kenneth laughed.

"Ah, well, we can give you something to shoot at here, without buying
pigeons; but you'll have to mind: my father wouldn't like it if you were
to shoot either me or Scood."

"Oh, I wouldn't do that!" cried Max.  "It isn't likely."

"Glad of it," said Kenneth dryly.  "Well, then, don't make a mistake and
shoot one of the dogs.  I'm sure they would not like it.  Where's your
gun?"

"In the case in my bedroom.  Shall I fetch it?"

"Yes.  Got any cartridges?"

"Oh yes, everything complete; the man saw to that."

"Look sharp, then," said Kenneth; and he had a hearty laugh as he saw
his new companion go upstairs.

In spite of the admonition to look sharp, Max was some few minutes
before he descended.  For the first thing he saw on reaching his bedroom
were his two pairs of trousers, neatly folded, and lying upon a chair.

The gun was forgotten for the minute, and it was not long before the
kilt was exchanged for the southern costume in the form of tweeds, Max
sighing with satisfaction as he once more felt quite warmly clad.

Kenneth laughed as Max reappeared with his gun and cartridge belt in his
hand.

"Hallo!" he said; "soon tired of looking Scotch."

"I--I'm not used to it," said Max apologetically.  "And never will be if
you go on like that."

"But I found my own things in my room, and it did not seem right to keep
on wearing yours."

"Wonder where they were?" said Kenneth dryly.

"I suppose the butler found them," said Max innocently.

Kenneth whistled, and looked rather peculiar, but his aspect was not
noticed by his companion, who was experimenting on the best way to carry
his gun.

"Loaded?"

"No, not yet."

"Then don't you load till I tell you.  I'll give you plenty of time.
Come along."

"Going for a sail, Maister Ken?" cried a voice; and Long Shon came
waddling up, looking very red-faced and fierce.

"Yes, Shon, and we don't want you in the boat."

Long Shon grunted, and followed close behind.

"She could go instead of Scood."

"Yes, I know she could, but she isn't going," replied Kenneth, mimicking
the man's speech.  "What would Scood say if I left him behind?"

"She could show you an eagle's nest up the firth."

"So can Scood.  He knows where it is!"

Long Shon pulled a battered brass box out of his pouch, and took a big
pinch of snuff as he waddled behind.

"She knows where there's a raven's nest."

"That's what Scood told me this morning, Long Shon."

"But she tidn't know where there's a nest o' young blue hawks."

"Yes, I do, father," shouted Scood from the boat, in an ill-used tone,
for they were now down on the rocks, and Scoodrach was paddling the boat
in close.

"He wants me to turn you out, and take him instead, Scood.  Shall I?"

"No!" said Scood undutifully.

"Petter tak' me, Maister Ken, and she can teach the young chentleman how
to hantle his gun."

"Look here, Shon, the young chentleman knows how to hantle his gun.  I
don't want you, and I don't want your dogs.  You, Sneeshing, come back."

The ugly little Scotch terrier had waited till Scoodrach came near, and
then crept down among the rocks to a crevice where he could get quietly
into the water without a splash, and was paddling to the side of the
boat, looking like an otter swimming.

Sneeshing whined and made a snap at the water.

"Do you hear, sir?  Come back!" cried Kenneth; but just then Scood
leaned over the side, gripped the little dog by the loose skin at the
back of his neck, and lifted him into the boat.

Sneeshing's first act was to run forward and give himself a tremendous
shake to get rid of the water, and then he performed a sort of
triumphant dance, and ended by placing his forepaws over the side, and
barking at his fellows on the rock.

Bruce seemed to frown at him, showed his teeth, and then uttered a deep
baying bark; but Dirk answered the challenge of his little companion by
barking furiously, then running up and down upon the rocks for a few
moments, watching the boat, as if calculating whether he could leap in;
and ending by plunging into the sea with a tremendous splash.

"Come back, sir!  Do you hear? come back!" shouted Kenneth, when Dirk
raised his head from the water, and uttered a remonstrant bark, which
seemed to say,--

"It isn't fair.  You're letting him go."

"Hit him with an oar, Scood," cried Kenneth.  "Here, you Dirk, come
back, sir, or I'll pepper you!"

As he spoke, Kenneth raised the gun he carried and took aim at the dog,
who threw up his head and uttered a piteous howl, but kept on swimming
up and down beside the boat.

"Will you come out, sir?"

Dirk howled again.

Click! click! sounded the hammers, as Kenneth drew the triggers; and
Dirk now burst forth into a loud barking.

"She says she knew it wasn't loated, Maister Ken," cried Long Shon,
laughing; "she's a ferry cunning tog, is Dirk."

"Hi, Dirk! look here," cried Kenneth; and he threw open the breech of
his gun and slipped in a couple of cartridges.  "Now then, young
fellow," he continued, "the gun's loaded now; so come back and stop
ashore.  You're not going."

"How-ow!"

Dirk's cry was very pitiful, and, whether he understood the fact of the
gun being loaded or not, he turned and swam slowly ashore, climbed on
the rock and stood dripping and disconsolate, without trying to scatter
the water from his coat.

"You'd better learn to mind, sir, or--"

Kenneth gave the dog's ribs a bang with the gun barrel, and Dirk whined
and crouched down, watching his master wistfully as he stepped off the
rock into the boat, and then held out his hand to Max to follow.

"Mind what you're doing, Scood," cried Long Shon.  "Ta wint's going to
change."

Scood nodded, and began to hoist the sail; the wind caught it directly,
and the boat moved swiftly through the water.

"You're not going near the Mare's Tail to-day, are you?" said Max
anxiously, as Kenneth laid his gun across his knees.

"No, I wasn't going; but if you want to--Here, Scood, let's go and show
him the Grey Mare's Tail again."

"No!  No!  No!" cried Max excitedly; "and pray don't go into any
dangerous places."

He bit his lip with annoyance as soon as he had said the words, for he
felt that it had made him seem cowardly in the eyes of his companions.

Scood grinned, and Kenneth said laughingly,--

"Oh, I thought you wanted to go there.  We won't go into any danger.
Would you like a lifebelt?"

"No!" said Max indignantly; and then to himself, "I wish there was one
here."

"Tak' care, Maister Ken.  Ta wint's going to change."

"All right."

"You, Scood, mind you ton't mak' fast ta sheet."

Max looked round for the sheet, but he did not see it; and concluded
that it was the sail that was meant.

"I do wish people wouldn't treat us as if we were babies," said Kenneth
angrily.  "Just as if I didn't know how to sail a boat."

He jumped up suddenly, and shouted back,--

"Hi, Shon!"

"Ay, ay!"

"Pray take care of yourself."

"You tak' care o' yoursel', Maister Ken, and never mind me."

"Mind you don't catch cold."

"Eh?"

"Tie a handkerchief round your neck, and put your feet in warm water."

"What ye mean, Maister Ken?"

"Get Mother Cumstie to come and hold your hand, for fear you should fall
off the rock."

"What ye talking aboot, sir?"

"Do be careful, Shon; there's a good man."

Long Shon stood on the rock, rubbing a great red, yellow-freckled ear;
and then scratched one of his brawny cheeks, looking puzzled.

"Shall I send Scoody back, to lead you with a string?"

The distance was getting great now, and the man's voice sounded faint as
he put his hands to his mouth to make a speaking-trumpet.

"She ton't know what you mean."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Scood.

"Go and teach your grandmother how to suck eggs," roared Kenneth in the
same way; but Shon shook his head, for he could not hear the words; and
Kenneth sank down in the boat, and pressed the tiller a little to port,
so as to alter the boat's course slightly.  "Scood," he cried pettishly,
"your father's a jolly old woman."

Scood, who was half leaning back, enjoying the fun of hearing his father
bantered, suddenly started up in a stiff sitting position, and tore off
his Tam o' Shanter, to throw it angrily in the bottom of the boat, as
his yellow face grew redder, and he cried fiercely,--

"No, she isna an auld woman.  My father's a ferry coot man."

"No, he isn't; he's a regular silly old cow."

"My father's a man, and a coot man, and a coot prave man, and never wass
an auld woman."

"Get out, you old thick-head!" cried Kenneth.

"I ton't say my het isna a coot thick het, Maister Ken; but my father is
as coot a man as The Mackhai hersel'."

"Oh, all right, then; Long Shon is a coot prave man, but his legs are
too short."

"She canna help her legs peing short," said Scood, who was still
ruffled; "put they're ferry coot legs--peautiful legs."

"Ha, ha!" laughed Kenneth.

"So they are," cried Scood.  "They're not so long, put they're much
pigger rount than the Chief's."

"Bother!  Hear him bragging about his father's old legs, Max!  Here, you
come and take a lesson in steering," said Kenneth, making fast the
sheet, an act which made Scoodrach growl a little.  "I can't steer and
shoot."

"Shall she tak' the tiller?" said Scood.

"No; you stop forward there, and trim the boat.  Well, Sneeshing, can
you see anything?"

The dog was standing on the thwart forward, resting his paws on the
gunwale, and watching the flight of the gulls.  At the sound of his
master's voice, he uttered a low bark.

"Whee-ugh, whee-ugh!" cried a bird.

"Look, Max, there he goes out of shot."

"What is it?"

"A whaup."

Max followed the flight of the bird eagerly as it flew off toward the
shore of a long, low green island on their left.

"Now then, catch hold."

"I'm afraid I don't know how to steer," said Max nervously.

"Oh, it's easy enough.  Keep her head like that, and if she seems to be
going over, run her right up into the wind."

"But I don't know how."

"Never mind that.  Half the way to know how is to try--eh, Scood?"

"Yes; if she nivver tries, she can't nivver do nothing at all so well as
she should," said Scood sententiously.

"Hear that, Max?" cried Kenneth, laughing.  "Scood's our philosopher
now, you know."

"Na, she isna a flossipher," grumbled Scood.  "Put look, Maister Ken--
seal!"

He sat perfectly still, gazing straight at some black rocks off a rocky
islet.

"Where?--where?" cried Max eagerly.  "I want to see a seal."

There was a soft, gliding motion on the black rock, and, almost without
a splash, something round and soft and grey-looking plunged into the
sea.

"You scared it away," said Kenneth.

"Oh, I am sorry!"

"Don't suppose the seal is; but I couldn't have hit it to do any harm
with this gun."

The boat glided on, and all at once, from the water's edge about a
hundred yards away, up rose, heavily and clumsily, a great
flapping-winged bird.

"What's that?" cried Max, whose knowledge of birds save in books was
principally confined to sparrows, poultry, and pigeons.

"Heron.  Can't you see his beak?"

"Yes, and long neck.  What a long thin tail!"

Scood chuckled.

"What's he laughing at?"

"You mind what you're doing; you'll have the boat over.  Keep the tiller
as I showed you."

Max hastily complied.

"That isn't his tail," continued Kenneth, watching the heron, which was
far out of shot.  "Those are his long thin legs stretched out behind to
balance him as he flies."

Max said "Oh!" as he watched the bird, and came to the conclusion that
he was being laughed at, but his attention was taken up directly after
by a couple of birds rising from the golden-brown weedy shore they were
gliding by--birds which he could see were black and white, and which
flew off, uttering sharp, excited cries.

"What are those?"

"Pies."

"Pies?"

"Yes; not puddings."

"I mean magpies?"

"No; sea pies--oyster-catchers."

"Do they catch oysters?"

"Never saw one do it, but they eat the limpets like fun.  Now then, sit
fast.  Here's a shot."

Max sat fast and shrinkingly, for he was not accustomed to a gun being
fired close to his ears.  He watched eagerly as a couple of birds flew
toward them with outstretched necks and quickly beating, sharply-pointed
wings, but they turned off as the gun was raised, and, though Kenneth
fired, there was no result.

"Waste of a shot," he said, reloading.

"What were those?"

"Sheldrakes.  How shy they are, Scood!"

Max thought it was enough to make them, but he did not say so, and he
scanned the island as they sailed on, with the sensation of gliding over
the beautiful sparkling water growing each moment more fascinating as
his dread wore off.  They were passing a glorious slope of shore, green
and grey and yellow, and patched with black where some mass of shaley
rock jutted out into the sea to be creamed with foam, while everywhere,
as the tide laid them bare, the rocks were glistening with the
golden-brown seaweed of different species.  Blue sky, blue water, blue
mountains in the distance: the scene was lovely, and the London boy's
eyes brightened as he gazed with avidity at the ever-changing shore.

"Is that a castle?" he said, as a square ruined tower gradually came
into sight at the point of the island.

"Yes; there are lots about," said Kenneth coolly.  "There's another
yonder."

He nodded in the direction of the mainland, so cut up into fiords that
on a small scale it resembled the Norwegian coast, and, on shading his
eyes, Max could see another mouldering pile of ruins similar in
structure to Dunroe, with its square mass of masonry and four rounded
towers at the corners.

"What castle is that?"

"Rannage.  This one on the island is Turkree.  Every chief used to have
a place of that sort, and most of 'em built their castles on rocks like
that sticking out into the sea."

Max gazed eagerly at the ruined towers, the homes of jackdaws, bats, and
owls, and he was beginning to dream about the old times when men in
armour and courtly ladies used to dwell in these sea-girt fortalices,
but his reverie was broken in upon by a sharp snapping bark from
Sneeshing, and an exclamation from Scood.

"Oh, you beauty!" exclaimed Kenneth, as he gazed up at a great
strong-winged, hawk-like bird, which went sailing by.  "See, Max.  Blue
hawk."

"Is that a blue hawk?" said Max, as he gazed wonderingly at the rapidity
with which the great bird cut through the air.

"Yes; peregrine falcon, the books call it.  There's a nest yonder where
we're going."

"Where?"

"On the face of that great grey cliff that you can see under the sail."

Max gazed at the huge wall of rock about a mile away, and noted that the
falcon was making for it as fast as its wings would beat.

"Are we going there?"

"Yes.  I want the nest.  I think there are young ones in it--late couple
fledged."

The rocky cliff looked so stern and forbidding, that it seemed as if
climbing would be impossible.

"Then we're going on to that rock on the other side--that tall crag.
That's where the eagles build."

Max gazed hard at a faint blue mass of crag miles farther, and then
turned half doubtingly to his companion.

"Eagles?" he said; "I thought there were none now."

"But there are.  There's one pair build yonder every year, quite out of
reach; but I mean to have a try for them some day.  Eh, Scood?"

"Ou ay!" ejaculated the young gillie carelessly; "why no?"

"Are there any other wild things about?"

"Any wild things? plenty: badgers, and otters, and roe deer, and red
deer.  Look, there's one right off against the sky on that hill.  See?"

"Yes," cried Max.  "I can see that quite plainly."

"Tah!" ejaculated Scood scornfully; "it's a coo."

"You, Scood, do you want me to pitch you overboard?" cried Kenneth.

"Nae."

"Then hold your tongue."

"Ou ay, Maister Kenneth, only ton't tell the young chentleman lies.
Look, Maister Max, there's the teer, four, five, sax of them, over yon.
See?"

"Yes, I can see them; but are they really deer?"

"No," cried Kenneth; "they're bulls."

"They're not.  Ton't you belief him.  She can see quite plain.  They're
teer."

"If they were deer they'd bolt," cried Kenneth, shading his eyes; "they
wouldn't stop there."

"There they go," cried Scood, as the graceful creatures trotted over the
shoulder of a hill a mile or more away, all but one, which stood up
against the sky, so that they could make out its great antlers.

"So they are," said Kenneth.  "Why, Max, we must go after that fellow
to-morrow.  How is it they've come down here?"

"Been shot at somewhere else."

"Hadn't we better go back and get the rifles?"

"Noo?  No; let's come to-morrow airly, and have a coot fair try."

"Perhaps that will be best," said Kenneth in assent, as the stag
disappeared, and the boat sped on.

"But may you shoot stags?" said Max rather wonderingly.

"Of course, when they are on my father's part of the forest.  That's his
out there."

"Forest?  Where?" asked Max wonderingly.

"Why, there."

"What, that place like a great common?  There are no trees!"

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Scood.  "Who ever heard of a forest with trees?"

"Hold your tongue, Scood, or I'll pitch you overboard."

"She's always talking spout pitching her overpoard, but she never does,"
muttered Scood.

"Our land runs right along there for three miles.  Once upon a time The
Mackhai's forest ran along for thirty miles."

"How is it that it does not now?"

"Father says the rascally lawyers--I beg your pardon.  He was cross when
he said that."

Kenneth hastily changed the subject, as he saw his companion's flushed
countenance.

"I say, we'll come out here fishing one day.  Like fishing for
mackerel?"

"I never did fish for them."

"Oh, it's rare sport.  We have a couple of rods out each side as we sail
along, and catch plenty when there's a shoal.  Looks high, doesn't it?"

"Yes," said Max, as the boat glided on over the calm heaving water till
they were right under a great grey wall of crag, which towered above
their heads, and cast clearly-cut reflections on the crystal water over
which they rode.

"That's five hundred feet if it's an inch," said Kenneth, as he threw
himself back and gazed up.  "Look, Max."

"What at?"

"See those two black fellows on that ledge with their wings open?"

"Yes.  What are they--blackbirds?"

"Black enough.  Cormorants drying their plumage."

"But it hasn't been raining."

"No; but they've been diving, and got well wet.  Why, they can swim
under water like a fish."

"Go on, if you like telling travellers' tales," said Max, smiling.

"Well, of all the unbelieving old Jews!  Just as if I was always trying
to cram you!  I tell you they do.  So do the gannets and dookkers.  They
dive down, and swim wonderfully under water, and chase and catch the
fish.  They're obliged to."

"Look out! there she goes," cried Scoodrach.

Kenneth raised his gun, but the bird to which his attention was drawn
was out of shot.

"That's the hen bird, Scood."

"Yes; and I can see where the nest is," cried the young gillie.

"Where?"

Kenneth laid his hand on Max's, which was upon the tiller, pressed it
hard, and, to the lad's surprise, the boat glided round till she faced
the wind, and then lay gently rising and falling, with the sail
shivering slightly in the breeze.

"Yes, that's it, sure enough, on that ledge somewhere," said Kenneth,
after a long stare up at the face of the grey crag.  "See, Max?"

"No."

"Why, there, about fifty feet from the top.  See now?"

"No."

"Oh, I say! where are your eyes?  See that black split where the rock
seems to go in?"

"Yes, I see that."

"Well, down a little way to the left, there's a--Oh, look at that!"

A great sharp-winged bird came over the cliff from landward, and was
about to glide down to the shelf of rock, when, seeing the boat and its
occupants, the bird uttered a piercing shriek, and swept away northward.

"That's the cock," cried Kenneth.  "No mistake about the young ones,
Scood.  Now, then, how shall we get 'em?"

Scood was silent.

"Do you hear, stupid?"

"Ou ay, she can hear, Maister Ken."

"Well, how are we to get them?"

"Aw'm thenking," said Scood, as he stared up at the beetling crag, which
was for the most part absolutely perpendicular.

"Hit him on the head with that oar, Max, and make him think more
quickly."

"She couldna get up anywhere there," said Scood slowly, as he scanned
every cranny of the cliff face.

"Oh yes, we could, Scood."

"Nay, Maister Ken, an' ye see, if we was to tummle, it wouldn't be into
the watter, but on to the rocks."

"Oh, we shouldn't tumble.  You could climb that, couldn't you, Max?"

"No, not without a ladder," replied Max thoughtfully; "and I never saw
one long enough to reach up there."

"No, I should think not.  Look here, Scoody, one of us has got to climb
up and take those young ones."

"She couldna do it."

"You're afraid, Scoody."

"Na, she isna feared, but she couldna do it."

"Well, I shall try."

"No, don't; pray, don't!  It looks so dangerous."

"Nonsense!"

"She couldna clamber up there fra the bottom," said Scoodrach slowly,
"but she could clamber up it fra the top."

"No, you couldn't, stupid; it hangs over."

"An' we could tak' a rope."

"Come on, then," cried Kenneth, seizing the tiller; and Max felt his
hands grow damp in the palms as he looked up at the top of the
precipice, and saw in imagination one of his companions dangling from a
rope.

"Which will be best--forward or backward?"

"Yonder where we landed to get the big corbies," said Scoodrach; and the
boat was run on for about a quarter of a mile, to where a ravine ran
right up into the land, looking as if a large wedge had been driven in
to split the cliff asunder.

The boat was steered in, the sail lowered, and Scood immediately began
to set free one of the ropes.

"Think that'll be strong enough, Scoody?"

"Na."

"Then why are you casting it loose?"

Scoodrach gave his companions a cunning look, and made the rope fast to
a ring-bolt, and then leaped out and secured the other end to a mass of
rock.

"That'll hold her," he said.  "Unto the ither."

"Oh, I see what you mean now," cried Kenneth, unfastening the
mooring-rope from the ring in the bows.  "Yes, that'll do better."

"She'll holt twa laddies hanging on at aince," said Scoodrach.  "Na, na,
ton't to that."

"Why not?"

"Because she'll want ta crapnel."

"Scood, you're an old wonder!" cried Kenneth; "but you'll have to carry
it."

"Ou ay, she'll carry her," said the lad coolly; and, getting on board
again, he lifted and shouldered the little anchor, so that one of the
flukes hung over his shoulder and the coil of rope on his arm.

"She's retty," he said.

"All right.  Come on, Max, and we'll send you down first."

"Send me down first?" said Max, looking wildly from one to the other.

"To be sure.  You can't fall; we'll tie the rope round you and let you
down, and then you can turn round gently and get roasted in the sun."

Scood laughed.

"You're bantering me again," said Max, after a few moments.

"Ah, well, you'll see.  Stop back if you're afraid."

"I'm not afraid," said Max firmly, but his white face spoke to the
contrary.  All the same, though, he drew a long breath, and jumped out
of the boat to follow Scoodrach, who took the lead, tramping sturdily
over the rough rocks of what proved to be a very stiff climb, the
greater part of it being right down in the stony bed of a tiny torrent,
which came gurgling from stone to stone, now dancing in the sunshine,
and now completely hidden beneath the debris of ruddy granite, of which
a dyke ran down to the sea.

"Hard work for the boots, Max, isn't it?" said Kenneth, laughing, as he
came along behind, active as a goat, and with his gun on his shoulder.

"Yes," said Max, perspiring freely.  "Isn't there a better path than
this?"

"No; this is the best, and it's beautiful to-day.  After rain this is a
regular waterfall."

"Ou ay, there's a teal o' peautiful watter comes town here sometimes,"
said Scood.

They climbed on by patches of ragwort all golden stars, with the ladies'
mantle of vivid green, with its dentate edge, neat folds, and pearly
dewdrop in the centre, and by patches of delicate moss, with the pallid
butterwort peeping, and by fern and club moss, heath and heather, and
great patches of whortleberry and bog-myrtle, every turn and
resting-place showing some lovely rock-garden dripping with pearly
drops, and possessing far more attraction for Max than the quest upon
which they were engaged.

"Ah, only wait till you've been here a month," cried Kenneth, "and your
wind will be better than this."

"Don't you get as hot as I am with climbing?"

"I should think not, indeed.  Why, Scood and I could almost run up here.
Couldn't we, Scood?"

"Ou ay; she could run up and run town too."

"Is it much farther to the top?" said Max, after a few minutes' farther
climb; and he seated himself upon a beautiful green cushion of moss, and
then jumped up again, to the great delight of his companions, who roared
with laughter as they saw a jet of water spurt out, and noted Max's look
of dismay.  For it was as if he had chosen for a seat some huge
well-charged sponge.

"I--I did not know it was so wet."

"Moss generally is on the mountain," cried Kenneth.  "You should sit
down on a stone or a tuft of heath if you're tired.  Try that."

"I'm so uncomfortably wet, thank you," replied Max, "I don't think I'll
sit down."

"Oh, you'll soon dry up again.  Let's go on, then.  We're nearly up at
the top."

Kenneth's "nearly up at the top" proved to be another twenty minutes'
arduous climb, to a place where the water came trickling over a
perpendicular wall of rock ten feet high, and this had to be scaled, Max
being got to the top by Scood hauling and Kenneth giving him a "bump
up," as he called it.  Then there was another quarter of an hour's climb
in and out along the steep gully, with the stones rattling down beneath
their feet, and then they were out, not on the top, as Max expected, but
only to see another pile of cliff away to his right, and again others
beyond.

They had reached the top of the range of cliff, however, and away to
their left lay the sea, while, as they walked on along the fairly level
cliff, Max felt a peculiar shrinking sensation of insecurity, for only a
few yards away was the edge, where the face fell down to the shore.

"Don't walk quite so near," he said nervously.

"Certainly not," said Kenneth politely.  "Do you hear, Scoody? don't go
so near.  It's dangerous.  Come this way."

As he spoke, he made his way, to Max's horror, close to the verge, and,
with a grin of delight, the young gillie followed him, to climb every
now and then on the top of some projecting block right over the brink,
and so that had he dropped a stone it would have fallen sheer upon the
rocks below.

Max felt a strange catching of the breath, and his eyes dilated and
throat grew dry; when, seeing his suffering, Kenneth came more inward.

"Why, what are you afraid of?" he said, laughing.  "We're used to it,
and don't mind it any more than the sheep."

"Tut it looks so dreadful."

"Dreadful?  Nonsense!  See what the sailors do when they go up aloft,
with the ship swaying about.  It's quite solid here.  Now, Scoody,
aren't we far enough?"

"Na.  It's just ahint that big stane where we shall gae doon."

"No, no; it's about here," said Kenneth; and, going to the edge, he
looked over.

Scoodrach chuckled.

"Can ye see ta nest, Maister Ken?"

"No; I suppose you're right.  There never was such an obstinate old
humbug, Max; he's always right.  It's his luck."

Scoodrach chuckled again, and went on about fifty yards to where a rough
block of stone lay in their path, and as soon as they were by this, he
went to the brink and looked down, bending over so much that Max
shivered.

"There!" he cried, and Kenneth joined him, to look over as well,
apparently at something beneath the projecting rock which was hard to
see.

"Yes, here it is!" he cried, "Come and have a look, Max."

At that moment the party addressed felt as if he would like to cling to
the nearest stone for an anchorage, to save himself from being blown off
the cliff by some passing gust, and he stood still, staring at his
companions on the brink.

"Well, why don't you come?  You can just see where the nest lies--at
least you can make out the bits of stick."

"I don't think I'll come, thank you," said Max.

"Nonsense!  Do be a little more plucky."

"Yes," said Max, making an effort over himself; and he took a couple of
steps forward, and then stopped.

"Well," cried Kenneth, "come along!  There's no danger."

As he stood there, with his gun resting on the rock beside him, Max
could not help envying his cool daring, and wishing he could be as
brave.

But he could not, and, going down on hands and knees, he crept
cautiously toward the brink, and then stopped and uttered a cry, for
something made a leap at him.

It was only Sneeshing, who had been forgotten, and who had been enjoying
himself with a quiet hunt all to himself among the heather.  As he
trotted up, he became aware of the fact that his young master's visitor
was turning himself into a four-footed creature, and he leaped at him in
a friendly burst of greeting.

"I--I thought somebody pushed me," gasped Max.  "Call the dog away."

"Down, Sneeshing!" cried Kenneth, wiping his eyes.  "Oh, I say, Max, you
made me laugh so--I nearly went overboard."

Max gave him a pitiful look, and, from crawling on hands and knees,
subsided to progression upon his breast as he came close to the edge of
the rock and looked shudderingly down.

"See the nest?" said Kenneth, as he exchanged glances with Scoodrach.

"No, no.  I can see a great shelf of stone a long, long way down,"
replied Max, shuddering, and feeling giddy as he gazed at the shore,
which seemed to be a fearful distance below.

"Well, that's where the nest is, only right close in under the rock.
Lean out farther--ever so far.  Shall I sit on your legs?"

"No, no! don't touch me, please!  I--I'll look out a little farther,"
cried Max, in alarm.

"D'ye think if ye teuk her legs, and she teuk her heat, we could pitch
her richt oot into the sea, Maister Ken?" said Scoodrach, in a low,
hoarse voice.

Max shot back from the edge, and sat up at a couple of yards' distance,
looking inquiringly from one to the other, as if fearing some assault.

"You'll soon get used to the cliffs," said Kenneth.  "I say, look,
Scoody!"

He pointed out across the wide sea-loch, and Max could see that two
sharp-winged birds were skimming along in the distance, and returning,
as if in a great state of excitement about their nest.

"There they are, Max, the pair of them," said Kenneth.

"Isn't it cruel to take their nest, supposing you can get it?" said Max.

"Oh, very," replied Kenneth coolly.  "We ought to leave it alone, and
let the young hawks grow up and harry and strike down the grouse and eat
the young clucks.  Why, do you know how many birds those two murder a
day?"

"No," said Max.

"Neither do I; but they do a lot of mischief, and the sooner their nest
is taken the better."

"I did not think of that.  They're such beautiful birds upon the wing,
that it seems a pity to destroy them."

"Yes; but only let me get a chance.  Why, if we were to let these things
get ahead along with the eagles, they'd murder half the young birds and
lambs in the country.  Now, Scood, how's it to be?"

Scoodrach grunted, and kicked away the earth in different places, till
he found where there was a good crevice between two pieces of rock,
where, making use of the anchor as if it were a pickaxe, he dug out the
earth till he could force down one fluke close between the stones till
the stock was level, when he gave it a final stamp, and rose up.

"There," he said, "twenty poys could not pull that oot."

"Yes, that will bear, unless it jumps out," said Kenneth.  "Look here,
Max, will you go down first?"

"I?  Oh no!"

"All right, you shall go down after.  Now, mind, you've got to keep your
foot on the grapnel here, so as it can't come out."

"But you surely will not go down, and trust to that?"

"Trust to that, and to you, my lad.  So, mind, if you let the anchor
fluke come out, down I shall go to the bottom; and I don't envy you the
job of going to tell The Mackhai."

"Oh, Kenneth!"

"Fact I'm the only boy he has got."

"It is horrible!" panted Max, as Scoodrach advanced to the edge of the
cliff and threw over the coil of rope, standing watching it as it
uncurled rapidly ring by ring, till it hung taut.

Max saw it all in imagination, and the fine dew stood out upon his face
as he pressed his foot with all his might down upon the anchor, and
listened to and gazed at what followed.

"There she is," said Scoodrach.  "Will ye gang first, Maister Ken, or
shall I?"

"Oh, I'll go first, Scood.  But how about the young birds? what shall I
put them in?"

Scood hesitated for a moment, and then took off his Tam o' Shanter.

"Ye'll joost putt 'em in ta ponnet," he said.

"No, no, that won't do; they'd fall out."

Scood scratched his curly red head.

"Aweel!" he exclaimed; "she's cot a wee bit of string.  Ye'll joost tak'
it in yer sporran, and my twa stockings.  Putt ane in each, and then tie
'em oop at the tops and hang 'em roond yer neck.  Do ye see?"

"That will do capitally, Scood!" cried Kenneth, seizing the socks which
the lad had stripped from his feet and thrusting them in his pocket.
"Good-bye, Max."

"No, no! don't say good-bye!  Don't go down!" panted Max, in spite of
himself; and then he stood pressing wildly down on the anchor, for
Kenneth had glided over the side, and, after hanging from the verge for
a moment, he gave his head a nod, laughed at Max, and disappeared, with
Scoodrach leaning down with his hands upon his knees watching him.

For a few moments Max closed his eyes, while the rope jarred and jerked,
and the iron thrilled beneath his foot.  Then all at once the jarring
ceased, and the rope hung loose.

Max opened his eyes in horror, the idea being strong upon him that
Kenneth had fallen.  But his voice rose out of the depths beyond the
edge.

"Ask him if he'd like to come down and see."

"No, no!" cried Max huskily; "I'd rather not."

"She says she shall not come," cried Scoodrach.

"Then let him stay where he is," came from below.  "Come and have a
look, Scood."

To Max's horror, the gillie went down on his knees, seized the rope, and
passed over the edge; Max watching his grinning countenance as he
lowered himself down, with first his chest and then his face
disappearing, lastly the worsted tuft on the top of his Tam o' Shanter;
and there was nothing to see but the pulsating rope, and the sea, sky,
and blue mountains on the other side of the loch.

And now a strong desire to take his foot from the anchor, and creep to
the edge of the cliff and look down, came over Max.  He wanted to see
Scoodrach descend to the shelf of rock and join Kenneth.  He wanted,
too, to look upon the falcon's nest; for, after seeing these two descend
so bravely, by a sudden reaction he felt ashamed of his own nervousness,
and was ready to show them that he was not so cowardly after all.

All this was momentary; and there the rope kept on vibrating and the
anchor jarred as Scoodrach descended; while, as Max pressed the stock
down, and it rose and fell like a spring beneath his foot, he kept his
eyes fixed upon the edge of the cliff, where the rope seemed to end,
when there was a dull twang, as if the string of some gigantic
instrument had snapped, and, to his horror, the rope rose from the top
of the cliff as if alive, and struck and coiled round him with a
stinging pain.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

A BRAVE ATTEMPT.

For a few moments Max Blande stood as if petrified, and those moments
were like an hour, while the thought flashed through him of what must be
going on below, where he seemed to see Kenneth gazing down in horror at
the shapeless form of Scoodrach lying unrecognisable on the rocks below.

All feeling of dread on his own behalf was gone now; and, as soon as the
first shock was over, he tore himself free of the snake-like rope, and
stepped to the edge of the cliff, to gaze down with dilated eyes.

"Well, you've done it now!" saluted him as he strained over the edge to
look below, where Kenneth, instead of looking down, was looking up,
while Scood was lying on the shelf of rock, rubbing himself with a hand
that was bleeding freely.

"Is--is he killed?" faltered Max, whose lips formed the question he had
been about to ask before he saw the gillie lying there.

"Do you hear, Scood?  Are you killed?" said Kenneth coolly.

"Is she kilt?  Na, she isna kilt," cried Scoodrach, with a savage snarl,
which was answered by a furious fit of barking from the terrier, as he
too looked down.  "Hech, but this is the hartest stane!  She's gien
hersel' a dreadful ding."

"Then you are both safe?" cried Max joyfully.

"Oh yes, quite safe, Max.  Locked up tight.  Did you cut the rope?"

"Cut the rope?  No, I didn't touch it.  Why did it break?"

"I say, Scoody, why did the rope break?"

"Oh, she's a pad rotten old rope, an' she'll burn her as soon as she
gets up again.  But what a ding I gave my airm!"

"That's it, Max; the rope was rotten.  Can you tie it together if we
throw it up to you?"

"Na," shouted Scoodrach; "she couldna tie it together, and she couldna
throw it up."

"I'm afraid I couldn't tie it tight enough," faltered Max; "but if I
could, it would not bear you."

"It would have to bear us.  We can't stop down here.  I say, Scoody,
think we could climb up?"

Scoodrach shook his head.

"Well, then, can we get down?"

"If she could get up or doon without a rope, the hawks wouldn't have
built their nest."

"That sounds like good logic, Max," cried Kenneth, "so you had better
let yourself over till you can hang by your hands, and then drop, and
we'll catch you."

"What?"

"You wouldn't hurt yourself so much as Scoody did, because we can both
help you.  He nearly went right over, and dragged me with him."

"Oh!" ejaculated Max, with a shudder.

"Well, are you coming?"

"No!  Impossible!  What for?"

"To keep us company for a week or two, till somebody sees us.  Hallo,
Sneeshing!  Good dog, then!  Come down, we want you.  Hooray, Scoody!
dog for dinner! enough for three days.  Then the young falcons will do
for another day.  Well, are you coming?"

"Oh, Kenneth," cried Max, "you're making fun again.  What shall we do?"

"You mean, what shall we do?  You're all right.  But you had better
lower down the gun, and then I can shoot Scoody decently, when Sneeshing
and the young hawks are done!"

"Oh, pray be serious!"

"I am.  It's a serious position.  We mustn't trust the rope again--eh,
Scoody?"

"Na!  Oh, what a ding she gave her airm!"

"Bother your arm!" cried Kenneth.  "Here, Max, what's to be done?"

"I'll run back and tell them at Dunroe."

"Ah, to be sure, that's the way! but I didn't know you could run across
the loch."

Max's jaw dropped, and he gave his companions a helpless stare.

"I forgot the loch," he said.  "What shall I do?  Where's the nearest
house?"

"Across the loch."

"Are there none this side?"

"There's a keeper's lodge ten miles away, on the other side of the
mountain."

"I'll run all the way there!" cried Max eagerly.  "Tell me the way."

"Well, you go right north, straight over the mountain, and whenever you
come to a bog, you stick in it.  Then you lose your way every now and
then, and get benighted, and there you are."

"You're laughing at me again," cried Max in agony; "and I want to help
you."

"Well, I want you to help us, old chap, for we're in a regular mess, and
perhaps the hawks'll come and pick our eyes out to feed the young ones."

"There, now, you're laughing at me again!" cried Max.  "I can't help
being so ignorant of your ways."

"Of course you can't, Maxy.  Well, look here, old chap, you can't get
over the mountain without some one to show you the way."

"Na; she'd lose hersel'," cried Scoodrach.  "Oh, what a ding she did
give--"

"Bother your old airm, Scoody! do be quiet.  Look here, Max: now,
seriously, unless a yacht comes by, there's no chance of help, and just
because we want a yacht to come by, there won't be one for a week."

"Then what shall I do?"

"Well, there's only one thing you can do."

"Yes? quick, tell me!"

"Go down to the boat and hoist the sail, and run back to Dunroe."

"But I couldn't manage her."

"All right, then.  Let's all set to work and make our wills before we're
starved to death.  No, I tell you what: you've got the gun; you'll have
to go shooting, and drop the birds over to us.  You're a good shot,
aren't you?"

Max was silent.

"Well, why don't you speak?  Look here, take the gun and shoot a hare.
You'll find one somewhere.  Got any matches?"

"Yes, I have a little silver box of wax-lights."

"That's your sort!  Then you can light a fire of heath and peat, and
cook it, and drop it down, and we can eat it."

"But, as Mrs Glasse said in her cookery-book, `First catch your hare.'"

"Why, you don't mean to say you couldn't shoot a hare?" cried Kenneth.

"She couldna shoot a hare," grumbled Scoodrach, rubbing his arm; and
then, after looking very thoughtful and nervous, Max spoke out.

"I am going down to the boat," he said quietly; "and I shall try and set
the sail, and go back to Dunroe."

"Bravo! hooray!" cried Kenneth.  "That's your sort; only the wind isn't
quite right, and you'll have to tack."

"To tack what--the sail?"

"No, no, I don't mean nail the sail to the mast."

"Oh, I remember; go backwards and forwards with the boat."

"There, Scoody!" cried Kenneth triumphantly; "I only wish you had got as
much brains in your old red head as he has."

"Ret's a ferry coot colour for a het," grumbled Scoodrach, who was very
sore, and who kept on gently rubbing the spot where he had given himself
"such a ding."

"Good-bye!" cried Max.  "I'll get back as soon as I can."

"That's right.  Don't go to my father.  Tell old Tavish and Long Shon,
and they're to bring a strong rope."

"Yes; I won't forget."

"And steer with one hand, and hold the sheet in the other," cried
Kenneth.  "Don't do as I did.  Good-bye, old chap; you're not a bad
fellow after all."

"Oh, if I was only as strong and as clever as they are!" said Max to
himself.  "Well, what is it?"

This was to Sneeshing, who stood barking at him sharply, and then ran
back to crouch on the edge of the precipice, where he could peer down at
his master and at Scoodrach, who was still chafing his arm.

Max half wondered at himself, as, in his excitement, he slid and
scrambled down the steep gully, getting over places and making bounds
which he dared not have attempted half an hour earlier.  The consequence
was that he got down to the shore in a way which surprised himself, and
then scrambled over the debris of fallen rocks to where the rope secured
the boat to the stone.

It was no easy task to undo Scood's knot, but he worked at it, and, as
he did so, wondered whether it was possible to make use of the cordage
of the boat to take up and let down to the imprisoned pair, but he was
fain to confess that, even doubled, there was nothing sufficiently
trustworthy for the purpose; and, after throwing in the line, he gave
the boat a good thrust as he leaped aboard, and then, as it glided out,
found himself in a position which made his heart beat, as he wondered
whether he would ever get safe to land.

Trying to recall the action of Scoodrach at starting, he seized the rope
and began to haul upon the yard, to find, to his great delight, that it
rose steadily and well, the line running quite easily through the block
till the gaff was pretty well in its place, and the sail gave a flap
which startled him and made the boat careen.

Then he stopped short, hardly knowing what to do next, but the right
idea came, and he made the rope fast, crept back cautiously over the
thwart to seat himself by the tiller, and, almost to his wonder, found
that the boat was running easily along.

Taking the handle of the tiller and the sheet, he drew a breath of
relief, for the whole business was easier than he expected, and already
he was fifty yards from the face of the cliff, and gaining speed, when
he heard a hail.

"Max!  Ahoy!"

He looked sharply round and up, to see Kenneth waving his glengarry; and
his next words sounded faint in the great space:

"Starboard! starboard!  Going wrong."

To put his helm to starboard was so much Arabic to Max, but he had
turned the handle in one direction, and he was going wrong, so he felt
that to turn it the other way must be right.  Pressing hard, then, he
found that what he did had the effect of turning the boat half round,
and making it go more slowly and diagonally in the direction from which
the wind blew, and somewhat more toward the shelf where his friends were
imprisoned, so that he could see them waving their caps, as moment by
moment they seemed more distant.

And now, for the first time, as he caught sight of a pile of ruins far
away to his right, he realised that he had been going away from Dunroe,
which lay to the south, while now he was sailing south-east; and his
spirits rose as he felt that he must be right in trying to reach that
castle, which he remembered as being one that Kenneth had pointed out.

He turned his head again in the direction of the shelf, and there, high
up, were the two boys, still waving their caps, either by way of
encouragement or to try and give him advice by signs.  But he could not
tell which, neither could he signal in turn, for both hands were full;
so, setting his teeth, and with a wonderful feeling of exhilaration and
excitement, at which he was surprised, he devoted himself to his task.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

A TERRIBLE JOURNEY.

Bailing a boat is like most other things, it has to be learned, and it
is a puzzling thing to grasp the meaning of the way in which it seems to
act.

To sit and hold the rudder and go right away with the wind dead astern
is not so difficult, but to try and sail a boat with the wind almost in
your teeth, is, at the first time of asking, rather a strain upon the
unaccustomed mind.  The first thing which Max discovered was that, as
soon as the sail was up, the boat seemed to try to take, so to speak,
the bit in its teeth and run off to the north; the next, that he held in
the tiller whip, spur, reins, everything for governing this
strangely-mobile creature, and at the hint from Kenneth he had changed
its course.

But now, as it could not go north, the boat seemed to be trying to go
due east, and, with the sail well filled and careening over, she
literally rushed through the water, which sparkled in her wake.

"But he said I must tack," thought Max.  "Why not try and sail straight
away?"

He tried to do this by turning the tiller more and more, but as he did
so the speed of the boat grew less and less, and finally she stood
still, with the sail shivering, and when he gave the sheet a shake, the
sail gradually filled on the other side; the boat's head swung round,
and he found that he was rushing due west, straight for the cliff upon
which Kenneth and Scoodrach were watching his course.

For a few moments Max lost his head--metaphorically, of course, and not
Carlistically.  He sat, tiller in hand, gazing aghast at the great wall
of rock with the rugged _debris_ of fallen masses at the bottom, upon
which in a very few minutes the boat would rush with a sharp crash, and
then, mistily and in a chaotic manner, he realised that there would be a
miniature wreck, similar on a small scale to those of which he had so
often read in the papers.

"What shall I do?" he gasped; and he gazed away to the right, at where
he could see the two boys upon their shelf, too far away for their
voices to be heard.

There was no help or advice to be had, so he was thrown back upon his
own brain for the very best help there is in the world--self-help; and,
making a bold grasp, as it was hovering in a mist, he caught his lost
head again, and held it tightly.

As he did this, he recalled that he held the guiding principle of the
boat in his hand, pressed the tiller hard, and, to his great delight,
the little vessel made a beautiful curve, ran right up in the wind, the
sail flapped and shivered, there came a puff of wind that seemed to be
reflected from the tall cliff, the sail filled on the other side, the
boat careened over, and away he was rushing right merrily again.

It was none too soon, for, as the boat curved round, he was within forty
yards of some black rocks, whose weed-hung heads were just level with
the water.

But in those few minutes he had gained one splendid bit of experience in
the management of a boat, namely, that he had but to keep his head and
be cool, and then he could guide the craft wherever he pleased.

His spirits rose at this, as the little vessel glided rapidly on, now
toward the west, and he knew that when he was close to the far side of
the loch he had but to reverse the action with the rudder, and turn and
come back.

There was a beautiful breeze, and he span along, his face flushed, eyes
sparkling, and his heart beating fast with excitement.  It was most
enjoyable.  He could manage the boat,--so he thought,--but by degrees he
began to grasp the fact that if he kept on he would be going to and fro
over the same water, and he wanted to go due south, and not east and
west.

Then came back what Kenneth had said about tacking, and by degrees he
more fully mastered what he had to learn, namely, that he must use the
rudder, and force the boat to go south-east instead of east, and, in
returning, south-west instead of west, so as to cross and recross the
loch diagonally, or in a zigzag course, so that at each tack he would be
farther south.

To his great delight, he found, by keeping a firm hand upon the rudder,
he could do this, but it proved to be such slow work that he began to
experimentalise a little more, and, instead of sailing south-east and
south-west, he contrived to keep the boat's head so that he sailed
south-south-east and south-south-west.  Later on, when with the two
lads, and Scoodrach at the tiller, he found that, had he known, he could
have made more southing each tack, for the little boat could sail
wonderfully close to the wind.

It was still slow work to one who was effervescing with eagerness to
reach Dunroe and obtain help, and over and over again, as the distance
seemed so long, Max shivered with dread lest he should have overshot the
mark and passed the place.

It seemed impossible that they could have gone so far.  But no; there
was the castle which they had passed on the right, and there was the
other that they had glided by on the left--now, of course, with the
positions reversed.  So, gaining confidence, and feeling wonderfully
self-satisfied at the way he could sail a boat, he sped on.

Fortunately for him, the breeze was just perfect and as steady as could
be, and he knew nothing of the risks to which he was exposed.  He sailed
on by narrow gorge and ravine--openings in the great hills--in profound
ignorance of the fact that through any of these a violent squall of wind
might come with a whistle and shriek, catch the sail and lay it flat
upon the water, while the boat filled and went down.

Then, too, he was happily ignorant of the sets of the tide and the wild
currents which raced through some of the channels, and of the hundreds
of rocks which lay below the surface, ready to catch the keel or rip
open the thin planks of a boat.

Max saw none of these dangers,--he did not even dream of them,--but sat
with flushed face, gazing onward, as he skimmed in exhilarating motion
over the sunny sea.

"I do like sailing," he said to himself, in spite of the hand which held
the sheet, at which the sail snatched and tugged, beginning to ache, and
the other which grasped the rudder feeling numb.  For the moment, too,
he forgot that the sun did not always shine, and that the sea rose
angrily, and that there were such things as storms.

All went quite smoothly, however, for about three parts of the distance,
when all at once a peculiar washing sound reached his ears; and, gazing
in the direction from which it came, he became aware of the fact that
there was some water in the bottom of the boat, gliding here and there
as the little vessel gave to the pressure of the wind.

He paid no heed to it at first, only thinking that the boat must be a
little leaky, and knowing that he ought by rights to seek forward a
little tin can and bale the water out.

But the management of the sail and rudder fully occupied him till he
made the next tack, when it struck him that the quantity of water had
certainly increased, as it ran over to the other side.

But still it caused him no uneasiness.  He only felt that before long he
might have wet feet, and he kept on looking out ahead for Dunroe.

At the next tack, there was undoubtedly a good deal more water, and the
bottom boards of the boat kept rising, one going so far as to set sail
on a little voyage of its own, and floating about.

What was to be done?--to throw the boat up in the wind, and stop and
bale, or to sail on as fast as he could, and get to Dunroe?

Thinking that the water did not much matter, he kept on sailing tack
after tack, till the water increased so much that it brought with it a
chill of horror as well as cold; for there could be no mistake in the
fact that the weight of water in the boat interfered largely with its
progress, and Max felt that if he delayed baling much longer she might
fill and sink.

He hesitated for a moment or two, and then tried to turn the boat's head
so as to meet the wind.  In this he succeeded, and, as the sail shivered
and flapped, he looked for the tin baler.  This he did not find, because
in his excitement he forgot to look in the right place, so in his flurry
he took off his cap and set to work with that, dipping and pouring the
water over the side.  A tiring job at the best of times, and with proper
implements; wearisome in the extreme with no better baler than a cap;
but Max made up in perseverance what was wanting in skill, and before
very long he had satisfied himself, by comparison with some paint-marks,
that the water was not gaining.

At the same time he did not feel that he was reducing it much; and the
difficulty stared him in the face that he could not keep on baling and
make progress too.

Taking out his knife, he made a scratch at the level of the water, and,
once more taking the helm, the boat gracefully bent over and sped on.

The journey now grew tediously laborious.  The afternoon was passing,
and it seemed to Max that he would never reach Dunroe; for at every tack
he paused to examine his mark, and found that the water had gained, so
that he was compelled to stop and bale once more.

He looked for the leak, but it was invisible.  All he could make out was
that it must be somewhere under the boards laid in the bottom of the
boat.

For quite a couple of hours did this go on, with the water still
increasing, and Dunroe appeared to be as far off as ever; while the
lad's task was Sisyphean, since, as fast as he baled the water out, it
seemed to return.

There was something else, too, for him to combat.  At first he had
worked with plenty of spirit, but after many repetitions of the task a
deadly sense of fatigue began to grow upon him, and as it affected his
body, so it did his mind, till it seemed as if a great black cloud were
appearing.  Despair rode upon that cloud, and, as he worked, his face
burned, but his heart chilled, and in imagination he saw himself sinking
helplessly, when his arms should fall down to his sides, and he could do
no more.

The result was that he baled with less effect, and instead of keeping
the water under, it began to master him; and he found at last, that, in
spite of all his efforts, his knife-mark was covered, and the water kept
inches above, and still increased.



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

HOW MAX FETCHED HELP.

Max Blande's confidence was on the ebb.  Fortunately for him, the tide
was on the ebb as well, and, though he was not aware of the fact,
helping him on his journey.

As the confidence failed, despair's black cloud grew heavy.  The idea
that the leak was growing bigger became stronger, and with it was the
feeling that before long the water would come in with a rush, and down
he would go.

It was very horrible; and, as he asked himself what he must do, he
clutched at the first idea suggesting escape which came, and that was,
that, much as he regretted being unable to get help for his two
companions in misfortune, he must save his own life, and the only way to
do that was by running the boat ashore.  Which side of the loch should
he take--west or east?

Dunroe was on the east side, but the west coast was nearer, and he
steered for that; but, feeling that this was cowardly, since he might
get ashore and manage to walk to Dunroe, he altered his course, after a
struggle with self, and sat with beating heart, slowly sailing on, with
the water rising and washing about his legs.

That last tack seemed as if it would never end, and it was only by
leaning sideways from time to time that he could catch sight of the
coast he was approaching, the sail shutting off the greater part of his
view.

To his dismay, he could see nothing but rocks, rocks everywhere, grey,
and black, and ruddy golden with the weeds.  The sea, too, foamed and
danced about them.  No cove floored with silver sand, no smooth river
into which he could glide; and he shivered as he felt, by anticipation,
the crash of the boat running on to the rocks at speed, throwing him
out, and the retiring waves bearing him away, and then?

It was too horrible.  But there were the rocks; he was getting nearer
and nearer.  He could hear the splashing of the water, and he must be
ready to make a bold leap on to the nearest before the waves could catch
him, and then he might escape.

Nearer and nearer; and it seemed a desperate thing to do--to run that
boat ashore, but it was his only chance, for she was sinking fast, he
was sure.

Nearer and nearer.  A few more minutes, and he would be ashore, and--

He suddenly wrenched the tiller round, the boat ran up into the wind,
careened over, and bore away on the other tack.

From Max Blande's cowardice?

No; the sail had sprung aside for a moment, as his doubting hand had
given way a little, slightly altering his course; and, as he gazed
wildly ahead, there, half covered by the swelling canvas, and not a
quarter of a mile away, the old castle of Dunroe towered up on its bold
base of storm-beaten rock.

"Will the boat float long enough for me to get there?"  Max asked
himself.

He decided to try, and now came the most difficult part of the steering
he had encountered that day, and it was not until he had made three or
four attempts that he lowered the sail, about fifty yards from the rocky
natural pier from which they had started, and, to his great delight, saw
Long Shon and Tavish watching him, and, after a consultation, run round
to the little bay, out of which they came rowing in a dinghy.

"Wha's ta young maister?" cried Tavish fiercely.

"Wha's Scood?" cried Long Shon.

Max hurriedly explained.

"Ma cootness!" exclaimed Tavish; "she tought they was poth trooned."

"Why, ta poat's full o' watter!" cried Long Shon.

"Yes; she is leaking and sinking fast."

"Ma cootness!" cried Tavish, getting in, to Max's horror.

"Don't! you'll sink her.  Let me get out."

"Na, na.  Why tidn't you bale ta watter oot?"

"I did, but it was no use."

Tavish gave a snort, opened the locker in the bows, and then began to
toss out the water like a jerky cascade, Max watching him wildly, but,
to his great relief, seeing the water begin gradually to sink.

"She's knockit a creat hole in her pottom," said Long Shon.  "Tit she
hit on ta rocks?"

"No, no; it came on all of a sudden."

"Why, she's cot ta cork oot!" cried Tavish, drawing his sleeve up above
his elbow, and thrusting his arm down to lift one of the bottom boards
beneath the centre thwart, and feeling about for a few moments before
turning reproachfully to Max.

"She shouldna pull oot ta cork."

"No," said Long Shon.  "She pulls oot ta cork to let ta watter oot.
She's pulled oot ta cork to let ta watter in."

Tavish growled as he recommenced baling, and then smiled at Max.

"I did not touch it.  I did not know there was a cork," said the latter
rather piteously.

"Then she must ha' come out hersel'," said Tavish.  "Ye'll know next
time what to do."

"And she sailed pack all py herself?" said Long Shon.

"Yes.  But do make haste.  They will think me so long."

"Let's ket the watter oot," said Tavish.  "You, Shon, ket the rope oot
o' the poat-hoose; or shall she leave ta poys till to-morrow?"

"What! leave them all night?" cried Max in horror.

The great forester chuckled as he looked up at Max, and kept on baling
away, while Long Shon rowed ashore.

"Na; she'll go ant fetch 'em.  So ta crapnel line proke?"

"Yes."

"She must ha' peen ferry pad."

"Yes, of course," said Max, who sat there contentedly enough, but vexed
as he found how his ignorance of a boat had caused him a couple of
hours' terror.

Tavish toiled away with the baler till it would scoop up no more, and
then, taking a great sponge from the locker, he sopped up and squeezed
till the bottom of the boat was quite clear of water, and by this time,
close down by the keel, Max had seen an ordinary wine-cork, with a piece
of whipcord attached to it, stuck upright in the hole used for draining
the boat when she was ashore.

Then the bottom boards were replaced, and the forester passed an oar
over the side, so as to paddle the boat up to the rock where Long Shon
was waiting, with a ring of new-looking rope over his arm.

"Wha's ta Chief?" said Long Shon, as they came alongside.

"Gane over ta hill."

"With his gun?"

"Na; reading a pit latter."

"Ta Mackhai gane walking with a pit latter!" said Long Shon.  "What's
coming to ta man?"

Tavish shook his head, and looked serious.  Then Long Shon stepped in,
and the boat was thrust off.

"She'll pe ferry ancry when she finds we're gane," said the forester
slowly.  "Put we must go and fetch ta young Chief."

"Ant tit she ever sail a poat in the lochs in Lonton?" asked Long Shon,
as the boat sped away rapidly, with the wind nearly dead astern.

"There are no lochs in London," replied Max, smiling.

"Nae lochs!" exclaimed the two Highlanders in a breath.

"No."

"Why, she thought Lonton wass a ferry fine place."

"So it is; full of great streets and shops."

"There's ferry coot shops i' Stirling," said Long Shon proudly, "and so
there is in Oban.  She'll pe pound there's no petter shops in Lonton
than there is in Oban.  Put no lochs?"

"No."

"I ton't think she shall think much coot o' Lonton, Tavish," said Long
Shon rather scornfully.

"Put she shall have sailed a poat pefore?" said Tavish, staring hard at
Max.

"No, never.  I was never in a boat alone before."

"She will never pe in a poat alone pefore!" said the forester.
"Wonterful!"

Long Shon looked as if he did not believe it.

"Wonterful!  It was wonterful!" said Tavish again.  "She will come town
here, and kill ta biggest fush; and she sails ta poat alone, and she
shall kill a stag soon, and all ta hares and grouse."

"Why wass she not town py ta blue hawk's nest wi' ta poys?" said Long
Shon suddenly and fiercely.

"I was holding the anchor," replied Max.

"She wass holting ta anchor, Shon.  She tolt her pefore."

"Put she ought to have peen wi' ta poys!" cried Long Shon, giving the
side of the boat a slap with his great hand.  "She wass afraid."

"Yes," said Max, flushing slightly, "I was afraid to go down.  They did
want me to go."

"Put ta poy Scoodrach wass never afraid," cried Long Shon, looking hard
at Max as if he had ill-used him.

"Waugh!" ejaculated Tavish slowly, his voice sounding like the low, deep
growl of some wild beast.

"Ta Scoodrach wass never pe afraid," cried Long Shon defiantly.

"Waugh!" growled Tavish more loudly and deeply than before.

"Ta Scoodrach wass never pe afraid," cried Long Shon, striking the
gunwale of the boat again, and his face flushed with anger.

"Waugh!" roared Tavish; and the great forester's beard seemed to bristle
as he burst out into an angry speech in Gaelic, to which Long Shon kept
on edging in a word or two in the same tongue, but only with the effect
of making Tavish roar more loudly, till Long Shon seemed to give in,
completely mastered by his big companion.

What was said was a mystery to Max, but it sounded to him as if the big
forester was taking his part, and crushing down Long Shon till the
latter gave in, when Tavish's face cleared, and his eyes smiled at Max,
as he said,--

"She shall not do like Maister Ken and Scoodrach, or ta poat could not
come and say they are on the crag."

"No, of course not," said Max confusedly, for he could hardly follow the
great fellow's meaning.

Then, in comparative peace, the boat skimming rapidly over the smooth
sea, they sped on, with Max wondering that the ride could be so
different now that there was no danger, and he had the companionship of
two strong men.  But all the same he could not help feeling something
like regret that he was no longer the crew and in full charge.  He felt
something like pride, too, in his exploit, and the day's adventure had
done more than he knew towards planting him in the high road to manhood.

The castles were passed in what seemed a wonderfully short time, and the
great wall of cliff loomed up on their left, but they had a long way to
sail before Max suddenly exclaimed,--

"I see them!  Look!  Kenneth is waving his cap."

"Na; it shall pe ta Scoodrach wi' her ponnet."

Tavish uttered another low, menacing growl of a very leonine nature, and
his eyes were flashing, but they softened into a smile as they
encountered those of Max.

A little while after, with the two boys on high cheering them as they
passed, the boat was run into the little nook and fastened, Tavish
taking the ring of rope and leaping ashore, followed by Max and Long
Shon, who got over the rough rocks and up the gully in a wonderful way,
hopping on to stones and off again--stones which Tavish took in one of
his great strides and with the greatest ease.

It was almost marvellous to Max to see the way in which the great
forester made his way up the gully, so that he would have been at the
top in half the time if he had not kept stopping to reach down his hand
to the lad, who was at various places compelled to climb on all-fours.

"She'll do muckle petter soon," he said, smiling.  "Ta legs sail ket
harter.  Hey, but it's a sair pity she does not wear ta kilt!"

"She hasna got ta legs for ta kilt," grumbled Long Shon, who was behind;
and Max partly caught his words, and felt a curious sensation of
annoyance at the disparaging remark.

Five minutes later they were on the top, when Tavish went straight to
the spot where the little anchor was forced in between the rocks, picked
up the broken rope, and threw it down again, before stepping to the edge
of the cliff and bending over.

"She shouldna troost to a pit o' line like that."

"How did I know it was going to break?" shouted Kenneth.  "It bore me
right enough.  It was old Scoody here who was so heavy."

"Ta rope wasna fit to bear a dog," grumbled Scoodrach.  "Hech! she shall
break ta rope wi' Sneeshing."

The dog, which had been ready to jump up and greet the new-comers, ran
at this, and looked down, and barked at the speaker, as if disputing his
remark.

"You are going to fasten the line to the anchor, aren't you?" said Max.

"Na," growled Tavish.  "She sail come up wi'out ta grapnel."

He threw the coil of rope on the grass, took the end, and made a loop
thereon before lowering it down.

"But you cannot bear him alone?"

"The two," said Tavish coolly, as he threw the coil back now out of his
way.

"Retty?" he cried.

"Yes, all right!" shouted Kenneth; and, standing there at the very brink
of the terrible precipice, Tavish bent down, and drew up the rope hand
over hand till Scoodrach's head appeared, and then the lad reached out,
caught at Tavish's arm, and swung easily on to the top of the cliff,
when the rope was lowered again, and directly after drawn up till
Kenneth's head appeared, and he too swung himself on to the top, and
stood laughing at Max, whose hands were uncomfortably damp.

"Here we are!" he cried.  "Thank ye, Tavvy.  Why, where are the hawks,
Scood?"

"She prought 'em up herself."

"No, I didn't.  I left them for you to bring."

"She never told her to bring ta birds," grumbled Scoodrach, in an
ill-used tone.

"I believe you went to sleep.  I've a jolly good mind to pitch you
overboard."

"She's always saying she'll pitch her overpoard."

"There, come along down," said Long Shon.

"No, I'm not going without my birds, Shonny," cried Kenneth.  "Here,
Scood, go down and fetch 'em.  No; if I send you down, you'll go to
sleep again, and forget them.  Here, Tavvy, give us hold of the rope."

"She isna going town gain," remonstrated the great Highlander.

"Oh yes, she is."

"No, no, pray don't venture again!" whispered Max.

"What! and leave those two poor birds to starve?  Not I.  Here, Tav,
hold tight."

The great forester stood by while Kenneth threw over some fifty feet of
the rope, and then stood smiling grimly, while, in defiance of all
advice, and trusting utterly to the strength of the gillie's arms,
Kenneth seized the rope, and let himself glide over the edge of the
rock, dropping out of sight directly, while Max held his breath, as he
saw the quivering of the forester's arms as Kenneth slipped down.

Then the movement ceased, and Max exclaimed excitedly,--

"Is he down safely?"

"Ou ay! she's all right," replied Tavish, as he gazed calmly down.
"Come and look."

Max shook his head.  He had had shocks enough to his nerves that day,
and could bear no more.

Long Shon, however, went to the edge, and stood looking down with a grim
smile.  Sneeshing did the same, and barked; while Scoodrach threw
himself down, and lay on the edge of the cliff looking over.

"Haul away!" came from below, and Tavish drew up a pair of coarse
worsted stockings knotted together and tied to the rope.

These were set at liberty, and, as they were placed upon a rock, there
was a good deal of shuffling and movement inside, the occupants of the
stockings trying first to ascend the legs, and then travelling back
toward the toes, and remaining quiescent till there was the shadow cast
by a bird, as it darted overhead, and a shrill cry, which seemed to set
the young birds in a state of great excitement.

"Oh, if I'd been up there!" shouted Kenneth from below.  "What a chance
for a shot!"

"Retty, Maister Ken?"

"Yes; haul away."

"Now, Scood, hang on, and heave her up," cried Tavish.

"She could choost pull her up wi' ane han'," said Long Shon scornfully.

"Ay, but she's a wunnerfu' man," said the forester coolly, and he half
closed his eyes, and then passed the rope through his hands as Scood
took hold and walked inward, as if he had harnessed himself, Sneeshing
walking by his side, and seeming to take the deepest interest in all
that was going on.

A minute more, and Tavish had swung Kenneth on to the cliff, the birds
were given to Scoodrach to carry, and the party descended the gully,
laughing heartily at the adventure, which was talked over from all
sides, and Max questioned and criticised about his sailing the boat,
till they had reached within a tack of Dunroe, when Tavish said, in his
broad dialect, and with one of his pleasant looks,--

"She mustn't mind what ta young Chief says.  She sailed ta poat
peautifully, only ta next tune she mustna pull oot ta cork."

"Eh, pull out the cork!" cried Kenneth sharply.  "Why, you haven't been
at the whisky, Max?  No; there was none on board."

"Na, na," cried Tavish, "ta cork plug.  She sailt in wi' ta watter
nearly up to her knees."

"Ay," said Long Shon, gazing down at Max's still wet trouser legs; "an'
aw'm thinking it shows ta creat ignorance o' ta Southron folk, to baggie
up her legs like tat, when a man might wear a kilt and niver get her
legs wet at all."

"All right, Shonny.  Mr Max is going to have one, with a plaid that'll
make your eyes ache.  Now, Scoody, jump out, and take care of those
hawks.  Hooray, Max! just in time.  There goes the gong."



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

HOW KENNETH WAS TOO RASH.

Five days had passed--days of imprisonment, for one of the storms
prophesied had come over the ocean from the far west, and there had been
nothing to do but read, play chess and billiards, write letters, and--
most interesting amusement of all to the London visitor--get up to an
open window and watch the great dark waves come rolling in, to break
with a noise like thunder, and deluge the rock with foam right up to the
castle walls.  Every now and then a huge roller would dash right into
the bath cave, when there would be quite an explosion, and Max listened
with a feeling of awe to the escape of the confined air, and wondered
whether it would be possible for the place to be undermined, and the
whole rock swept away.

"What!" cried Kenneth, when he broached the idea.  "Nonsense!  It has
gone on like that for thousands of years.  It's jolly!  Next time we
bathe, there won't be a scrap of weed left.  The place will be regularly
scoured out, and the bottom covered with soft shelly sand."

The outlook was most dismal.  All the glorious colours of sea, sky, and
mountain were blotted out, and it was only at intervals, when the
drifting rain-clouds lifted a little, that a glimpse could be seen of
some island out at sea.

Boom, rush, roar.  The wind whistled and yelled as it rattled past the
windows, and at times the violence was so great that Max turned an
inquiring look at his young host, as if to ask whether there was any
danger.

"Like a sail to-day?" asked the latter.

"Sail? with the sea like this!"

"Well, I don't think I should like it," said Kenneth, laughing.  "Tavvy
says the boat was going adrift out in the bay, but he caught her in
time.  It's quite rough even there.  Here, let's put on waterproofs, and
go out."

"Oh no.  There: see how it rains."

"Yes, that's pretty tidy," said Kenneth, as the air was literally
blackened by the tremendous torrent that fell.  "I say, Max, this is the
sort of day to see the Mare's Tail.  My word! there's some water coming
down now."

"It must be terrible."

"Terrible?  Nonsense!  Here, come into the kitchen and let's see if
there's any one there."

Max wondered, but followed his young host to the kitchen, expecting to
see no one but the maids, and perhaps Grant, the severe butler; but,
when they reached the great stone-floored place, there were Tavish, Long
Shon, and Scoodrach, the two latter seated at a table, and the great
forester toasting the back of his legs at the fire, and sending up a
cloud of steam, an example followed by the three dogs, who sent up
smaller clouds of their own.

There was a chorus, or rather a trio of good-mornings, and a series of
rappings from dogs' tails, and Max ventured to suggest to the great
Highlander that it was very wet.

"Ou ay," he said; "a wee bit shoory, put she'll pe over soon."

"Pretty good spate up in the hills, Tavvy," cried Kenneth.

"Ou ay, Maister Ken; but it's gran' weather for ta fush."

"A' was thenking ye'd like to tak' ta chentleman up ta glen to see ta
fa's," said Long Shon.

"Ah, we might do that when the shower's over."

"There'll pe a teal of watter coming down fra Ben Doil."

"Yes, we'll go, Max; and, say, Tav, we never went after the stags Scoody
and I saw.  Think we could get a shot at them to-day?"

"Weel, she might, Maister Ken, put she'd pe a wee pit wat for ta young
chentleman."

"Oh, he wouldn't mind.  You'd like to go deerstalking, Max?"

"Yes, I should like to go, but--"

"Oh, we wouldn't go while it rains hard; and you'd only get your feet
wet."

"She couldna get over ta mountain to-day," said Long Shon decisively;
"and ta glen'll be so full of watter, she couldna stand."

"Oh, nonsense!  We could go, Tav?"

"Ou ay, she could go, put there's a teal o' watter apoot."

Just at that moment a weird-looking figure appeared at the door, with
his long grey hair and beard streaked together with the rain, and, as he
caught Max's eye, he smiled at him, raised one hand, gave a
mysterious-looking nod, and beckoned to him to come.

"Here, Maxy, old Donald wants you."

"What for?" said Max, as he shrinkingly met the old man's eye, as he
still kept on beckoning, and completely ignored the presence of the
rest.

"He wants to give you a tune on the pipes."

Donald beckoned again in a quiet, mysterious manner, and the three dogs
looked at him uneasily, Sneeshing uttering a low growl, as if he had
unpleasant memories of bagpipe melodies and stones thrown at him because
he had been unable to bear the music, and had howled.

"What's the matter, Tonal'?" cried Kenneth, as the old man kept on
beckoning.

"She disna want onybody but ta Southron chiel'," said the old man
sternly; and he continued to wave Max toward him with his long,
claw-like hand.

For a few moments Max felt as if he must go--as if some force which he
had not the moral courage to resist was drawing him, and he was about to
rise, when the old man gave a fierce stamp with his foot.

"You'll be obliged to go, Maxy," said Kenneth.  "Have a concert all to
yourself for three or four hours.  It will be rather windy, but the rain
doesn't come in on one side of the old tower room."

"No, no, not to-day!" cried Max hastily.

"Oh, you'll have to go," said Kenneth, as the old man kept on waving his
hand imperiously.  "Won't he, Scood?"

"Ou ay, she'll have to go and hear ta pipes."

As if angered at the invitation not being accepted, old Donald took a
couple of strides forward into the kitchen.

This was too much for Sneeshing, who leaped up on to his four short
legs, barked furiously, and then, overcome by recollections of the last
air he had heard, he threw up his head so as to straighten his throat,
and gave forth the most miserable howl a dog could utter.

Old Donald shouted something in Gaelic, and made for the dog, which
began to bark and snap at him, and this roused Dirk and Bruce to take
part with him in baying at the old piper, who stopped short, as if
startled at the array of teeth.

The noise was so great that Grant the butler came hurrying in.

"Turn those dogs oot!" he cried.  "You, Tonal', what do you want?"

"Ta Southron chiel'," said the old man mysteriously.

"She lo'es ta pipes, and she'll play him ta Mackhai's Mairch."

Turning to Max, he waved him toward the door.

"No, no, not to-day," said Grant, who read the young visitor's
reluctance to go.

"But ta chiel' lo'es ta pipes," cried Donald.

"Then you shall play to him another time."

"Yes, another time, Tonal'.  Be off now, and I'll bring ye a wee drappie
by and by," cried Kenneth.

"She'll pring her a wee drappie?  Good laddie!  She shall pring her a
wee drappie, and she wass nice and try up in the tower, and she wass
make a nice fire."

He made a mysterious sign or two, suggestive of his making a silent
promise to give his young master all the music he had intended for Max,
and went slowly out of the great stone-floored place.

"Noo, send oot the dogs," said Grant; and, to make sure, he did it
himself, a quiet wave of his hand being sufficient to drive them all out
into the yard behind the kitchen.

"She said she should soon pe fine," said Long Shon, as a gleam of
sunshine shot through the window; for the storm was passing over, and
its rearguard, in the form of endless ragged fleecy clouds, could be
seen racing across the blue sky; while, in an hour from then, the sky
was swept clear, and the sun shone out bright and warm.

"Now," cried Kenneth, "let's get the rifles, and go and have a stalk."

"It would jist aboot be madness," said Grant; "and the Chief would be in
a fine way.  Tell him he can't go."

"Oh ay! he's spout richt, Maister Ken.  She's too fu' o' watter to go
over the mountain and through ta glen."

"She wass saying she'd go and tak' the young chentleman to see the
fa's."

"Ay, there's a gran' fa' o' watter the noo," said Tavish.

"Oh, very well, then; let's go and see the falls.  Come along, Scoody.
I'll get a gun.  You'll take yours, Max."

"Shall I?"

"Yes, of course.  We may get a good shot at something."

The two lads went back into the hall, and, passing through a swing door,
they suddenly came upon The Mackhai pacing up and down.

He looked up, frowning as he caught sight of Max, and was evidently
going to say something; but he checked himself, and went quickly into
the library and shut the door.

"I'd give something to know what's the matter with father," said Kenneth
thoughtfully.  "He never used to be like this."

Max felt uncomfortable, and, being very sensitive, he turned to his
companion:

"Have I done anything to annoy him?" he asked.

"You?  No.  What nonsense!  There, come along.  We haven't had such a
day as this for ever so long, and I've been indoors till I can hardly
breathe.  Why not have a sail?"

Max looked aghast at the heaving sea.

"Perhaps it is a bit too rough," said Kenneth.  "Never mind; we'll go
and see the falls."

Ten minutes later they were skirting round the little bay, to turn in by
the first swollen river, to track its bed up to the mountain, where the
"fa's" they were to see were to be found, and, even as they went, a low,
deep, humming sound came to the ear, suggestive of some vast machinery
in motion; while the river at their side ran as if it were so much
porter covered with froth, great flakes of which were eddying here and
there, and being cast up in iridescent patches on the stony banks.

At the end of a quarter of an hour's climbing and stumbling among the
wet rocks and bushes, during which the two big dogs had been trotting
quietly along at their master's heels, and Sneeshing, in a wonderful
state of excitement, hunting everywhere for that rabbit which he had on
his mind, Max stopped short.

"Hallo!  Tired?" cried Kenneth, laughing.

"Oh no!  But it seems such a pity to go hurrying on.  Wait a few
minutes."

Kenneth laughed, and yet he could not help feeling gratified at his
companion's enthusiasm.

"Here, hold hard a bit, Tawy," he cried.  "Stop a bit, Shon."

The two men halted; the dogs settled themselves upon a sunny rock, Bruce
with his pointed nose comfortably across Dirk's rough, warm frill, and
Sneeshing curled himself up in the angle formed by the two dogs' bodies,
close up to and as much under Dirk's long hair as he could; while
Scoodrach seated himself on a huge block of black slate, which did not
belong to the place, but must have fallen from some vein high up the
gorge, and been brought down by wintry floods, a little way at a time,
during hundreds of years, till it lay jammed in among the great blocks
of granite like a chip in a basin of lumps of sugar.  This piece of
slate suited Scoodrach's eye, and he took out his big knife and began to
sharpen it.

Long Shon took a little curly sheep's horn out of his pouch, and had a
pinch of snuff.

Tavish filled a dumpy black wooden pipe, and began to smoke; while
Kenneth, as he smilingly watched Max, hummed over Black Donald's bagpipe
tune, "The March of the Clan Mackhai."

"Well," said Kenneth at last, breaking the silence, through which came a
low, deep, humming roar, "what do you think of Dunroe?"

"Think!" cried Max, in a low, deep voice; "it's heavenly."

And he stood gazing up the narrow glen, with its intensely dark shadows
among the rocks, through which the brilliant sun-rays struck down,
making the raindrops which hung upon the delicate leaves of the pendent
birches glisten like diamonds.

For it was one beautiful series of pictures at which the lad gazed:
patches of vivid blue above, seen through the openings among the trees;
right below, the foaming river coming down in a hundred miniature falls;
silver-stemmed and ruddy-bronze birches rooting in the sides, and
sending their leaves and twigs hanging over like cascades of verdure;
pines and spruces rising up on all sides like pyramids of deep, dark
green; and everywhere the masses of rock glittering with crystals, and
clothed with mosses of the most vivid tints, and among whose crevices
the ferns threw up their pointed, softly-laced fronds.

The sunlight glanced down like sheaves of dazzling silver arrows; and
over the water, and softly riding down the glen, came soft, filmy clouds
of mist, so fine and delicate that they constantly faded into
invisibility; while every now and then there were passing glimpses of
colour appearing and disappearing over the rushing torrent, as if there
had been a rainbow somewhere up above--one which had broken up, and
these were its fragments being borne away.

"I never saw anything so beautiful," said Max, almost wondering at his
companion's want of enthusiasm.

"And do you know what makes it so beautiful?"

"It was made so."

"Yes; but it is the sun.  If a black cloud came over now, and it began
to rain, the place would look so gloomy and miserable that you'd want to
hurry home."

"Yes; ta young Chief's richt," said Tavish, nodding his head.  "It's ta
ferry wettest place I know when ta rain comes doon and ta wind will
plow."

"Let's go on," said Kenneth after awhile.  "It gets more and more
beautiful higher up."

"It can't be!" cried Max.  "And is this all your father's property?"

"Yes," said Kenneth proudly; "this all belongs to The Mackhai."

"Ant it will aal pelong to ta young Chief some tay, when he crows a pig
man."

Max went on with a sigh, but only to find that the place really did grow
more beautiful as they climbed on, while the deep, humming roar grew
louder and more awe-inspiring as they penetrated farther and farther
into the recesses of the mountain.  For the long and heavy rain had
charged the fountains of the hills to bursting.  Every lakelet was
brimming, every patch of moss saturated, and from a thousand channels,
that were at first mere threads, the water came rushing down to coalesce
in the narrow glen, and eddy, and leap, and swirl, and hurry on toward
the sea.

"Why are we climbing up so high?" said Max suddenly.

"To show you our glen, and take you up by the falls."

A curious shrinking sensation came upon Max, and Kenneth noticed it.

"This isn't the Grey Mare's Tail," he said, laughing; "and we're not in
a boat."

"I can't help feeling a little nervous," said Max frankly.  "I am not
used to this sort of thing."

"And we are.  Yes, of course.  It's too bad to laugh at you.  Come on."

"Is there any danger?"

"Well, of course there is, if you go and tumble in, but you needn't go
near."

The humming roar grew louder as they tramped on along a sheep-track in
and out among the huge stones which had fallen from the sides of the
great gully.  Now they were in deep shadow, where brilliant speckled
fungi, all white and red, stood out like stools beneath the birch trees;
then they were high up on quite a shelf, where the turf and moss were
short, and the sun shone out clearly; and ever, as they turned angle
after angle of the great zigzag, the roar of the water grew louder,
till, after another hour's slow climbing, they descended a sloping green
track and came into a great hollow directly facing them; and a couple of
hundred feet overhead, a narrow rift, out of which poured an amber
stream of water on to a huge block of rock some twenty feet below, the
result being that the great spout of amber water was broken and turned
into a sheet of foam, which spread out all over the great block, and
fell sheer the rest of the distance, over a hundred and fifty feet, into
a vast hollow below.  Here it careered round and round, and rushed
onward toward where the group were standing, while high above all
floated a cloud of fine vapour which resembled white smoke, and upon
which played the iridescent colours of half a rainbow, completing the
picture in a way which made Max watch it in silent delight.

"Well, what do you think of it?" said Kenneth, who was amused by the
London lad's rapt manner.

"Eh? think?" said Max, starting and colouring.

"Yes.  What were you thinking?"

"I was wishing that it was mine--all my own, so that I could come and
sit here and think."

"Well, you may come here and sit and think, but it never will be yours.
It has always belonged to the Mackhais ever since they conquered the
Mackalps, and took it with claymore and targe.  There was a tremendous
fight up above there, and, as my ancestors cut down the Mackalps, they
threw them into the stream at the top, and there they were shot out over
the fall, and carried right out to sea."

"How horrible!"

"Horrible?  Why, it was all considered very brave and grand, and we are
very proud of it.  There's a sword down at the castle that they say was
used in the great fight."

"And are you proud of it?"

"I don't know.  I suppose so.  Does seem queer, though, to chop chaps
with swords and pitch 'em into the water.  Rather an awkward place to
come down, wouldn't it, Max?"

"Awful!"

"Well, never mind talking about it.  Come up and see."

"What! climb up there?"

"To be sure.  Oh, you needn't be afraid.  It's quite safe.  You go up
that narrow path, and get round in among those birch trees, and that
brings you out by the top."

"I--"

"Oh, don't come if you're scared," said Kenneth contemptuously.

Max rose from the stone upon which he had been seated.

"I'm ready," he said.

"Well, you are a rum chap, Maxy," cried Kenneth, clapping him on the
shoulder.  "Sometimes I think you are the jolliest coward I ever saw,
and sometimes I think you've got plenty of pluck.  Which is it?"

"I'm afraid I'm very cowardly," said Max sadly.

"Oh, come, now I'm sure of it!" cried Kenneth warmly.

"That I am a great coward?"

"No; that you're full of pluck.  My father says that a fellow must be
very brave to own he is a coward.  Come on."

They started up the side, with Scoodrach following close behind.

"Going up to ta top o' ta fa's, Maister Kenneth?" shouted Long Shon.

"Yes.  Coming with us?"

"She'd petter tak' care," cried Tavish.  "There's a teal o' watter, and
ta stanes is ferry wat."

"All right, Tavvy; we'll mind," cried Kenneth; and he plunged in among
the bushes and rocks, to begin climbing upward in and out, and gradually
leaving the rushing waters of the fall behind, while, as the misty foam
with its lovely ferny surroundings faded from the eye, the loud splash
and roar gradually softened upon the ear till the sound was once more a
deep, murmurous hum, which acted as a bass accompaniment to a harsh,
wild air which Scoodrach began to sing, or rather bray.

Kenneth stopped short, held back the bushes of hazel dotted with nuts,
and turned round to give Max a comical look.

"What's the matter, Scoody?" he cried.  "Eh? ta matter?  I only
scratched my hand wi' a bit thorn."

"Oh!  Well, you needn't make so much noise about it."

"Noise spout it!  She titn't mak' nae noise."

"Yes, you did.  You hulloaed horribly."

"She titn't.  She was chust singing a wee bit sang."

"Singing?  Did you say singing?"

"Ay, she was chust singing ta Allambogle."

"Do you hear that, Maxy? he thinks he was singing."

"Wah!" ejaculated Scoodrach; and the little party climbed on, with Max
wondering how anybody could find breath to make such a noise when
climbing up so great a steep.

In a few minutes the sound of the fall began to grow louder once more,
and a shrinking sensation to attack Max; but he put a bold face upon the
matter, and followed close to Kenneth till the latter turned to him.

"Here we are," he said, "close to the spout."  Max looked, but could see
nothing, only a dense tangle of hazel stubbs among the green moss, at
whose roots grew endless numbers of fungi, shaped like rough chalices,
and of the colour of a ripe apricot.

"I can't see it."

"No, not there; but you can here."

As he spoke, Kenneth divided the bushes, and held them apart for his
companion to join him, and the next moment they were standing on the
brink of a narrow rift in the rock, so narrow that the bush-tips met
overhead, and made the water that glided silently along many feet below
look quite dark.

"But that's not the whole of the water which goes over the fall," said
Max wonderingly.

"Every drop.  It's narrow, but it's fine and deep, and when it spouts
out it falls on to the stones and spreads round so as to look big--makes
the most of itself.  Now then, are you tired?"

"Yes; my legs ache a bit."

"Very well, then, this is the nearest way home."

"I don't understand you."

"Jump in here, and the water would carry you right away down to the
bathing-cave.  Scood and I have sent strings of corks down here, and the
stream has carried them right to Dunroe."

"I think I'd rather walk," said Max, smiling.

"So would I.  Now come on and see where the water falls."

He led the way, and Max and Scoodrach followed, the latter, who was
musically disposed that morning, taking advantage of the noise made by
the falls to use it as a cloak to cover his own, with the result that
every now and then Max was startled by hearing sounds close behind him
remarkably suggestive of Donald Dhu being close upon their track, armed
with his pipes, and doing battle with all his might.

"Here you are," cried Kenneth, brushing through the last of the hazel
boughs, and standing out on the rock close to the edge of the great
hollow into which the water poured; and the shrinking sensation
increased, as Max joined his friend, and found that there was nothing to
protect him from falling into the great gulf at whose brink they stood.

All this struck him for the moment, but the dread was swept away by the
rush of thought which took its place.  For there below, as he gazed down
at the falling water arching from the narrow rift into a stony basin, to
then rush over the sides and fall in a silvery veil, to the deep chasm
fringed with delicate dew--sparkling greenery, amidst whose leaves and
boughs floated upward a cloud of white mist, which kept changing, as the
sun shone upon it, to green and yellow and violet and orange of many
depths of tone, but all dazzlingly bright, one melting into the other
and disappearing to reappear in other rainbow hues.

Far below them, toward where the rugged hollow opened out to allow of
the escape of the water from the falls, Tavish and Long Shon could be
seen, seated on the stones they had chosen, smoking their pipes and
basking in company with the dogs, for the warm rays of a sunny day had
of late been rare.

"There's a teal o' watter in the fa's," said Scoodrach gravely.

"Of course there is, stupid, after this rain," cried Kenneth.  "Tell me
something I don't know."

"Couldn't tell her nothing she don't know," cried Scoodrach.  "She reats
books, and goes to school, and learns efferything."

"That's just what the masters say I don't do, Scoody.  Here, let's go
down to the basin."

"What! get down there?" cried Max in horror, as Kenneth seated himself
on the edge of the stony channel through which the water came down from
the mountain before making its leap.

"Yes; it's easy enough," cried Kenneth, dangling his legs to and fro,
and making them brush through the fronds of a beautiful fern growing in
a crevice.  "Scoody and I have often been down."

"But she shall not go pelow now," said the young gillie, looking down at
the smooth, glassy current.  "There's chust too much watter in ta way."

"Get out!" cried Kenneth.  "Look here, Max: you can get down here to the
edge of the water, and follow it to where it makes its first leap, and
then get under it to the other side, and clamber on to the edge of the
basin where it spreads, and look down.  It's glorious.  Come on."

"Na, she will not come," cried Scoodrach.  "There's too much watter."

"You're a worse coward than Max."

"Nay, she shall na go," cried Scoodrach, making a bound to the spot
where Kenneth was seated; but quick as thought the lad twisted round,
let himself glide down, and, as the young gillie made a dash at his
hands, they slid over the moss and grass and were gone.

Kenneth's merry laugh came up out of the narrow rift, sounding muffled
and strange, and the two lads looked down to where he was creeping
along, some fifteen feet below them, in the half-darkness of the hollow,
and holding on by the pendent roots which issued from the crevices, as
he picked his way along the stones, with the water often washing against
his feet.

"Come down, Max.  Don't be a coward," he cried, as he looked up over his
shoulder at the two anxious faces, while the hiss, rush, and roar of the
water nearly covered with sound his half-heard voice.

"She's coing to troon herself, ye ken!" cried Scoodrach, stamping his
foot with rage.  "Come pack, Maister Ken!  Do she hear me?  Come pack!"

Kenneth probably did not hear the words, but he looked up again and
laughed, as he stood near the end of the narrow gully, with the sunny
light of the great hollow behind him showing up his form, and at the
same time his face was lit up strangely by the weird gleam of a
reflection from the rushing, glassy, peat-stained stream as it glided on
to the mouth of the gully for its leap.

"She canna stay here and see her young maister troon herself," cried
Scoodrach wildly.  "She must go town and ket trooned too."

"Coming, Scoody?" cried Kenneth, as he half turned round where he stood
on a little block of stone, against which the water surged.

Scoodrach was in the act of seating himself upon the edge previous to
lowering himself down, and, why he knew not, he hesitated and spoke,
half to Max, half to himself.

"She'll go and trag her pack! she'll go and trag her pack!"  Then he
uttered a hoarse cry, for, as they saw Kenneth, framed in as it were by
the narrow rock, gazing back at them, while the swift gleaming water
swept by his legs, they suddenly noted that he started and made a clutch
at an overhanging root which came away in his hands, while the stone
upon which he was standing tottered over and disappeared in the rushing
water.

But Kenneth was active as a monkey; and, failing in his first attempt to
grasp something to support him, he made a second leap and caught at a
hazel bough which grew out horizontally above his head.

This time he was successful, and, as the sturdy bough bent and swayed,
the lad hung right over the rushing water.

"Chump!  Swing and chump, Maister Ken!" cried Scoodrach; and then he was
silent, and sat staring wildly, for he realised that he could not help
his young master--that there would not be time.

Kenneth was swinging to and fro, the bough dipping and rising and
dipping, so low that the water almost touched his feet.  As he hung he
tried to get a better hold, and made a struggle to go hand over hand to
the place where the bough joined the mossy roots.

But it was all in vain.  Before he could get his loosened hand past a
secondary branch, the rotten root broke away from its insecure hold in
the gully wall, and one moment the two spectators saw Kenneth hanging
there, his form shown up by the light behind; the next, they saw branch
and its holder descend quickly into the glassy water, which was
momentarily disturbed by a few leafy twigs standing above its surface,
then a hand appeared, then again with half the arm, making a clutch at
vacancy, and then there was nothing but the water gliding onward to the
opening through which it leaped down into the basin on the top of the
spreading rock.



CHAPTER TWENTY.

RIVAL DOCTORS.

For a few moments Scoodrach was as if frozen.  He sat gazing at the
rushing water, and then he sprang up and dashed past Max, shouting,--

"Come on! come on pefore he's trooned."

Max rushed after him, following the best way he could, for Scoodrach had
disappeared among the low growth of hazel, and it was only by listening
to the sound that he was able to make out the way the young gillie had
gone.

The distance was only some fifty yards down, through a depression which
led round to a kind of shelf just level with the top of the huge mass of
rock on to which the water fell, and Max forgot the danger in the
excitement, as he reached Scoodrach, who was standing holding on by the
thin branch of a birch tree which had grown outward, and hung drooping
over the great hollow below, and so near to the falling foam that its
outer leaves were sprinkled with the spray.

As Max crept to his side, Scoodrach gave him a horrified look, and
pointed at something in the bubbling water at the edge of the basin.

"What'll she do?" he cried despairingly; "if she climbs along the tree,
she canna chump it.  Oh, look, look!  Maister Ken!  Maister Ken!"

Even if it had been possible, there was no time to render help, for, as
they gazed wildly at the basin into which the clear, smooth jet of water
fell, they saw that the apparently inanimate body of Kenneth was borne
nearer and nearer to the edge of the stone, and then slowly onward, to
glide over in the spreading veil, and then disappear in the foam and
mist far below.

"Pack again and doon to the bottom!" yelled Scoodrach, and he rushed by
Max so fiercely that he had to clutch at and hold on by a sapling to
prevent his own fall headlong into the watery hollow.

Max drew himself safely to the perpendicular wall, and crept back now
along the rugged ledge, which had not impressed him with its risky
nature before, and the perspiration stood out clammily on his temples as
he reached the place where he had begun to descend.

He was here in a dense growth of nut and birch, and he listened vainly
for the rustling made by Scoodrach as he ran down.

There was the dull roar of the falls behind him, and then a loud shout,
and either an echo or one in answer; but that was all; and a horrible
feeling of misery and despair at his helplessness came over the lad, as
he thought the worst, and of how terrible it would be to go back to the
castle and tell the tale.

His first instinct prompted him to cast himself down upon the earth and
yield to the sensation of despair, but his second was to go on and try
and do something to help.

In this intent he looked wildly round, to see nothing but a wilderness
of undergrowth, and in his excitement he dashed straight on, striking
the hazel stems to right and left, and, stumbling and falling again and
again, he ended by rolling and scrambling down a steep slope, to drop
into what might have been some terrible chasm, but only, as it happened,
a few feet, and, as he gathered himself up, it seemed that he had
inadvertently hit upon the rough track by which he had ascended.

At the end of a minute he recognised a peculiar-looking patch of rock
jutting out above him, and recalled how he had compared it to the head
of a bullock as he had clambered up.

That was enough, and the rest of the descent proved comparatively easy,
till he reached a spot where he could see on his right the foaming
waters of the fall, and down below, on the left, a glint or two of the
torrent, as it escaped from the lower basin and hurried along the deep
ravine toward the sea.

He gazed wildly at the base of the fall, in the vain hope that he might
catch sight of Kenneth clinging to some projecting stone; then he
scanned the wild below, but he could see nothing of his companions.

There was the spot where Tavish and Long Shon had sat smoking, but they
were gone, and there was no sign of Scoodrach.  Nothing but the falling
water, with its deep, musical, humming roar, and the grand picture of
rock and tree made dim and distant-looking by the rising clouds of
rainbow-tinted spray.

He shouted with all his might, but there was only a dull echo; and,
after repeating his cry, and feeling that it was drowned by the deep
roar, he gave one more despairing look round, and ran on downward for a
few yards, but only to turn and almost retrace his steps by the rough
zigzag track, when he felt a strange catching of the breath, and stopped
short, just where, some distance below, a curve of the rushing stream
opened out before him, all white foam and glancing water, glistening and
flashing in the sun.

He had noticed it as he climbed upward with Kenneth and Scoodrach, and a
strange sensation of delight had thrilled him.  But the beauty was all
gone, and he could see nothing now but the scene which seemed to check
his breath and fill him with despair.

For there, at the foot of a glistening curve of water which seemed to
leap from amidst a pile of black rocks, stood Tavish, bending forward.
Long Shon was below him, standing waist-deep, and holding on to prevent
being swept away, while Scoodrach was many feet above, climbing to his
right, and evidently scanning the stream.

"They think he's washed down there," cried Max aloud, "when he must be
up yonder at the foot of the falls."

He shouted wildly, but his feeble voice would not penetrate to them as
they stood amidst the racing water, and in his agony Max was in the act
of starting to run again, when he saw Scoodrach throw up his hands, and
directly after Tavish seemed to make a bound into the foam, where he
fell and disappeared.

Max's mouth felt dry at this fresh misfortune, and he stood as if turned
to stone, waiting to see the gillie reappear, which he did, but not
where Max expected by fifty yards farther down the stream, where Long
Shon stood, and, as the latter held on with one hand, he could be seen
to stoop and catch at something in the water.

Max could hardly believe what he saw, as Tavish rose up high above Long
Shon, when the pair slowly climbed out, the great forester with
something beneath one arm.

The frozen feeling of helplessness passed off, and Max ran on down the
rough slope, nearly falling again and again in his eagerness to reach
the spot where from time to time he could see the group, on a green bed
of moss beneath some pendulous birches; and when at last he reached
them, it was to find Kenneth lying upon his back, with his head and
shoulders supported against Tavish as he knelt there; Scoodrach stooping
and holding his hand; and Long Shon busily binding up a cut upon the
lad's head, the blood from which had trickled down over one cheek.

"Is--is he dead?" cried Max hoarsely.

There was no reply, and Max felt his heart seem to contract as he stood
in the pool of water which had streamed down from the group.

"Na, na," said Tavish, suddenly thrusting away Long Shon's hand.  "She'd
petter let her pleed."

Long Shon looked at him wonderingly, but gave way.

"Maybe she shall.  Puir laddie, ye canna dee like that."

But for a time it seemed as if poor Kenneth's race was run, so still and
white he looked.

"The doctor! some one go for a doctor."

"There's nae doctor this side o' Stirling or Inverness," said Long Shon
quietly.  "Puir laddie!  Was this your doing, Scoody?"

"Na, father; she tried to stop her," cried the boy piteously.  "She
wouldna stay.  Is she trooned?"

"Trooned! nay, not she," cried Tavish exultantly.  "Look at her een.
She chust gave ane wee bit blinkie.  Bide a wee, laddie, and she'll be
upon her legs again."

They watched and waited in a state of the greatest excitement, all but
Scoodrach, who, after giving himself a shake like a water-dog, and
wringing his kilt in front and behind, began to whistle in the most
indifferent manner, and ended by walking coolly away, to the
astonishment of all.

But they were too busy with Kenneth to pay any heed to the young
gillie's eccentricities, no one heeding his disappearance, as the
half-drowned boy's hands were chafed, and Tavish gently lowered his head
till he could lay it on a tuft of heath.

There had been a quiver or two of the eyelids, as Tavish had said, and
from time to time there was a faint fluttering of the pulses, but after
these manifestations the poor fellow seemed to relapse, and Long Shon,
who had been fidgeting and muttering against the forester's treatment,
impatiently dashed his bonnet on the ground.

"Ye're a' wrang, Tavvy!" he exclaimed,--"ye're a' wrang!  Lat me tak'
haud o' the laddie's heels, and let her hing doon my back wi' her heid
close to the groon'."

"Hwhat for?" cried Tavish.

"Hwhat for?" cried Long Shon contemptuously.  "Canna ye see that the
puir bairn's fu' o' watter.  Lat's turn her up, man, an' lat a' t'
watter rin oot o' her mooth.  Here, stan' aside."

"Gin ye touch the laddie, Long Shon, I'll gie ye a ding atween the een
as shall mak' ye see stars for a month.  D'ye think I dinna ken that it
would kill the bairn at ance?"

"Na!" growled Long Shon; "I've seen 'em do it wi' the trooned men after
a wrack."

"Ay, and I've seen 'em dee wi' doing that same, Long Shon.  D'ye think I
dinna ken what I'm aboot?"

"Ay," cried Long Shon stoutly, as Tavish kept on pressing Kenneth's ribs
with mighty force and letting them go.

"Ye're glad enow to come and lat me doctor ye, though, man.  Hing the
puir laddie by his heels to lat the watter oot!  Maun, ane wad think ye
were aboot to haunle a stag, and cut her up to send to toon.  Hah! see
him the noo! see him the noo!  Kenneth laddie--Kenneth, my bonnie
chiel'!  Light o' my een, my bonnie young Chief!  Hech!  Hech!  Hech for
ta Mackhai!  Look at her the noo!"

Tavish had sprung up, uttering a wild yell, leaping off the ground, and
waving his bonnet in the air.  For Kenneth had opened his eyes, gazed
wonderingly about, and then fixed them on Max, as he knelt down and took
his hand, and smiled.

"What is it?" he said feebly.  "What's the matter?"

Max was choking.  A great ball seemed to be rising in his throat, and he
had to get up hastily and turn away to hide his emotion.

"I--don't quite--What's the matter, Tavvy?"

"Matter, my bonnie laddie!" cried the great forester, dropping on his
knees and placing his hands tenderly on the injured brow; "on'y a wee
bit scratch on the heid.  Gie's the cloth, Shon lad, and I'll bind it
up.  Ye had a dip i' the watter, but ye're a' richt the noo."

"Yes, I'm all right now," said Kenneth feebly; and he smiled faintly in
the great forester's face, as the great rough fellow bound up his brow
as tenderly as a woman.

Max had drawn back, and, as soon as the two men's attention was taken
up, he crept round behind a clump of the hazels, and, as soon as he was
well alone, the pent-up emotion would have vent, and, sobbing wildly, he
dropped upon his knees and covered his face with his hands, repeating
the prayer of thanksgiving that rose to his lips:

"Thank God!  Thank God!"

Then he started to his feet, ashamed of his emotion, dreading lest any
one should have seen his position and heard his words, for a low, hoarse
moan seemed to come from farther in the little patch of woodland.

Was there some one else hurt? he thought; and, taking a few steps in the
direction, he came suddenly upon Scoodrach at full length upon the moss,
face downwards and buried in the soft green growth, while his hands were
clutching his shortly-cut hair behind, and his shoulders heaved as he
moaned forth,--

"She'll never hantle a poat acain! she'll never rin wi' her ower the
hills!  Maister--Maister Ken, she's deid, she's deid!"

"No, no, Scood!" cried Max excitedly.  "He's better!  He has just come
to!"

Scood sprang to his feet, and a flash of wild delight darted from his
wet red eyes.  Then, as if recollecting himself, he dashed his hand
across them and gave it a slap against his side, scowling heavily.

"On'y ta watter rin doon oot o' her hair," he said surlily.  "Ta young
Chief's not trooned?"

"No, no, Scood; he's--"

Max stared, for Scoodrach had turned his back, begun to whistle, and
walked away.

"He was ashamed to let me see him crying," thought Max.  "I'm not the
only coward in the world."

He stood for a few moments gazing after Scoodrach, and then walked
quickly back, to find Kenneth sitting up.

"She's a teal petter the noo," cried Tavish triumphantly.  "There,
laddie; ye'll get up, and we'll chust gang hame."

"Yes; I'm not much hurt, Max," said Kenneth, with a ghastly attempt at a
laugh.  "I say, old chap, you couldn't do that.  Here, give us your
hand."

Max eagerly tried to help him rise, and Kenneth made a brave effort to
get upon his legs, but he snatched at the forester's arm, with his face
contracting and turning ghastly pale, as his eyes looked dim and then
half closed.

They gently laid him down, and bathed his forehead with water.

"Chust a wee bit dizzy, puir laddie," said Tavish tenderly.  "Bide a
wee, Long Shon, till he opes his een acain, and then ye shall put him on
my pack, and I'll carry him doon to the shore, and we'll mak' Scood rin
on and ket the poat and twa pillows, and ket him richt across to the
rock."

"Ay," said Long Shon approvingly.  "But she must hae a teal o' watter in
her; shall she rin it oot the noo?"

"Na, na!" cried Tavish, in a low, fierce growl.  "Hey, Scoody!"

"Well?" came from close by, and the young gillie showed himself, with
his face half averted.

"Rin, bairn, and get ta little poat an' row her to ta mooth o' ta
stream," cried Long Shon.

"Ay," cried Scoodrach, turning eagerly to run.

"An', Scoody, my laddie," cried Tavish, "ye'll chust ask Maister Crant
to fling twa pillows in ta poat."

"Yes."

"And, Scoody, ye'll chust say that the young Chief is a' richt the noo,
but that we're a' wat wi' sweet watter, and if she thinks a wee drappie
o' whusky would pe good for ta young Chief and the rest, she can pit it
in ta poat."

Scoodrach nodded, and ran off rapidly over the rugged ground, bounding
across the stones like a goat, and Kenneth now tried to rise.

"Ye'll pe a pit petter the noo, Maister Kenneth," said Tavish tenderly.
"She's chust sent for ta poat, and she'll kneel doon, and Long Shon will
help ye to get upo' her back, ant she'll carry ye chently doon to ta
mooth o' ta stream."

"Oh no, Tavvy; I can walk."

"Nay, laddie, ye canna walk.  It winna pe ta first time she's carriet ye
on her pack.  Noo, Long Shon, chust gie ta young Chief a lift, and--
that's ta way.  Did she hurt ye?"

"Not--very much," said Kenneth, with a shudder of pain.  "Thank ye, Tav,
old chap.  There, I'm like a little boy again; but it's too bad to let
you carry me."

"Haud yer wheesht, Maister Ken--haud yer wheesht!" cried the big
forester angrily.  "What would she pe for if it wasna to help ta young
Chief o' ta Mackhai?  Why, Long Shon here and she would lie doon for ye
to walk upo' us if it would do ye good."

"Ay!" cried Long Shon.

"Noo then, slow and steady.  Come along, Maister Max; and we'll be doon
to the sands before Scoodrach can get across ta bay."

The great fellow walked slowly and carefully down the gully; but, before
they had gone far, Kenneth's head dropped, and they laid him down again,
to revive him after a few minutes by bathing his face on the brink of
the rushing stream, after which Tavish raised him as tenderly as if he
had been a baby, and bore him in his arms.

They reached the shore at last, after a very slow progress, to find
Scoodrach approaching fast, and tugging at the oars with all his might.

"Is ta Mackhai at hame?" cried Long Shon, as the boy came within hail.

"Na," shouted Scoodrach, without turning his head, and toiling away till
he was close in, when he reversed the boat, and backed in till she
grounded on the sand.

The pillows were there, so was the whisky, but no one touched it.
Kenneth was laid carefully in the stern, and Max supported him,
Scoodrach scowling angrily at being sent into the bows; while the two
men made the water surge beneath the keel till they reached the rock,
where, once more taking the injured lad in his arms as if he were a
babe, Tavish carried him up the rock, and then right up to his bedroom,
where he stopped and tended him as carefully as a trained nurse.

"I've been a' ower him, Maister Crant, and ye may rest easy till ta
Mackhai comes pack.  If she likes to sent for ta toctor, weel, let her
sent; pit there's naething wrang wi' the laddie, nae banes brukkit, and
naething wrang inside.  She has gien her heit a gran' ding or twa, and
she's verra sair, and she's been maist trooned.  I've seen to manny a
worse hurt than hers, so let the bairn go to sleep, and we'll see her
when she wacks."



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

AN ANXIOUS TIME.

The Mackhai did not return home till the next morning, and his first
inquiry was why had not a doctor been fetched.

He nodded with satisfaction at the answer he received.

Tavish and Grant had sat up all night with their young master, and Max
had been to them at least a dozen times, for a consultation to be held
at daybreak, and for Tavish to agree that something must be done.

The result had been that he and Long Shon had taken the boat before
sunrise, and gone off to Port Staffey, where Grant knew a medical man to
be staying for a holiday, and to fish.

For poor Kenneth was quite delirious, and about midday, after going out
on the terrace to scan the offing eagerly for signs of the boat, The
Mackhai went back into the house, and up to his son's room, to hear the
injured lad talking at random, and a hoarse sob escaped from the
father's lips.

"My poor boy!" he groaned; "and am I to lose you?  Well, better so,
perhaps--better than to live a beggar, ready to curse your weak father
for the ruin he has brought--Hah! how came you here?"

His voice had changed from a soft, appealing tone to one full of angry
annoyance, as he saw Max slowly rise up from the other side of the bed,
where he had been seated, hidden by the curtain.

"I came to sit with poor Kenneth, sir.  I beg your pardon.  I'll go
now."

"If you please," said The Mackhai coldly, and there was a bitterly
fierce look of dislike in his eyes, as he crossed toward the door and
threw it open for Max to pass out; but the next moment he had closed it
hastily, and he held out his hand.

Max looked at him wonderingly.

"I beg your pardon, Mr Blande," said The Mackhai, in a low voice, full
of courteous apology.  "I am in trouble, and hardly know what I have
been saying."

He pointed as he spoke toward the bed, and then his countenance worked,
and he wrung the boy's hand warmly, as Max caught his, and whispered in
broken tones,--

"Oh, sir, you don't think he is so very bad?"

"I hope not, my lad, I hope not.  Thank you, thank you.  No, no, don't
go.  You are Kenneth's visitor and friend."

"But do pray tell me what you think of him," whispered Max excitedly.

"I cannot say.  We shall have the doctor here soon."

"I should like to stay and hear what he says, sir; and then--perhaps--I
ought not to--I shall be--intruding--I ought to go away."

"No, no," said The Mackhai hastily; "certainly not.  My boy would not
wish you to leave him--that is, if you wish to stay."

"May I?" cried Max, with such intense earnestness that his host looked
at him wonderingly.

"I beg you will stay, Mr Blande," he said; "and let's hope that he will
be better soon.  By the way, I hope you will forget what you heard me
say."

Just then Kenneth turned uneasily upon his pillow, muttering quickly the
while.  Now he seemed to be talking to his dogs, now his words were a
confused babbling, and then the occupants of the darkened room started
as he burst into a fit of laughter, and said merrily,--

"No, no, Scoody; it's too bad!  Poor old Max!"

Max felt the blood rise to his cheeks and gradually pale away; and then,
for quite two hours, father and visitor sat watching, the monotony of
the vigil being broken by an occasional walk to a window, which
commanded the sea, and at last Max was able to announce that the boat
was in sight.

"Thank heaven!" muttered The Mackhai.

They had to wait for a full half-hour, though, before they could be
satisfied that there was a third person in the boat--all doubt being set
at rest by The Mackhai fetching his binocular, whose general use was for
deerstalking, but by whose help he was able to see that the third party
in the boat was a stern-looking, dark, middle-aged man, who might very
well be the doctor.

The doctor it was, and, after a careful examination, he confirmed
Tavish's declaration.

"Oh no, my dear sir, I don't think it is as bad as that.  The boy has
concussion of the brain, and he is a great deal hurt beside; but he is
young and vigorous, and I think I may venture to say that we'll pull him
through.  It would have killed you or me, but he is a boy accustomed
evidently to a rough life."

The Mackhai wrung his hand: he could not speak for a few minutes, and
the doctor left him to go back to the bedside to replace the coverlid
Kenneth had tossed off, but The Mackhai noted that the doctor was too
late, for Max was performing this little office, and the father observed
that the lad gently laid his hand upon his son's brow.

"Of course you will stay and dine, Mr--?"

"Curzon," said the doctor, smiling.

"Mr Curzon; and then see my boy again before you go?"

"My dear sir, I shall be very glad to do so; but I think, under the
circumstances, I ought to stay the night."

"Will you?" cried The Mackhai eagerly.

"With pleasure.  I am down here fishing, and one place is the same to me
as another.  If I can serve you, I shall only be too glad."

"My good sir," cried The Mackhai, "you are taking a load off my mind!
Pray, pray stay, and if you care to fish, my river and loch are at your
service,--tackle, boats, keepers, everything,--while they are mine," he
added to himself.

"Then," said the doctor, smiling, "I am your private medical attendant
for the next week; and to-morrow, if you will send your boat for my
traps from the hotel at Staffey--"

"Yes, to-night," said The Mackhai hastily; and he left the room,
thankful for the ray of light which had come into his darkening life,
but hurrying back, to find Kenneth holding tightly by Max's hand as he
kept on talking, while the doctor was letting a few drops fall from a
little bottle he had brought, into a glass of water.

"There," he said, "we'll get him to take that, and I think we shall get
some sleep afterwards.  To-morrow we must hope for better things."

But the morrow came, and the hope was not fulfilled.  Kenneth Mackhai,
in spite of his youth and strength, was dangerously ill, and the
doctor's face wore an anxious look.

"I have ordered my men to have everything ready for you, Mr Curzon,"
said The Mackhai, with enforced calmness; and Max darted an angry glance
on the man who could think of sport at a time like that.

"What, to fish, Mr Mackhai?" said the doctor quickly.  "No, thank you;
I'll wait till I can go more at ease."

"Thank you," said The Mackhai, in a husky voice; and Max darted now a
grateful look.  "But pray speak plainly to me: you think my poor boy
very bad?"

"Yes, sir, very bad indeed; but, please God, we'll pull him through."

The Mackhai drew a long and painful breath, and, as Max looked towards
him, he thought he had never seen so sad a countenance before.

He stole out on tip-toe, for it seemed to him that he was not wanted
there; but, as he reached the landing, The Mackhai touched him on the
shoulder:

"Come back soon," he whispered.  "Kenneth seems more restful while you
are here."

Max nodded silently, and hurried down to talk for a few moments with
Tavish and Scoodrach of the patient's state.  Then he hurried back,
thinking, as he went up to Kenneth's room, that it must be months since
he came, and he wondered how it was that he could feel so much at home.



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

THE DOCTOR'S TASK DONE.

A fortnight's terrible anxiety, during which Max rarely left Kenneth's
room.  Every morning, though, it grew into a custom that he should go
down to the old castle yard, where Tavish, Long Shon, old Donald, and
Scoody were always waiting to hear his report of the patient's progress.

"An' has she askit for the pipes?" old Donald whispered mysteriously;
and, on receiving an answer in the negative, he looked reproachfully at
the speaker.  "She's waiting and retty," he would say; "and a good lilt
on ta pipes would do her all ta petter as ta physic stuff."

At the end of a week, Donald determined to try his medicine unasked, and
struck up "The March of the Mackhai" under Kenneth's window.

The doctor rang the bell furiously, and Grant, who guessed what it
meant, ran out and seized the old piper, to bundle him out of hearing.

That day there was nearly murder done, for Donald drew his sgian-dhu and
swore he would have the butler's "bluid," to which Grant responded by
firing half a pail of water at the furious old man, who was then carried
off, foaming and muttering wildly in Gaelic, and was only calmed down by
Long Shon telling him it would "kill ta young Chief" if he made so much
noise.

Tavish was terribly low-spirited.

"Ta pools are fu' o' saumont," he would say, "and there's naebody to
catch them, for the hand that throws a flee better nor ta whole wurrld
lies low.  Ye'll came and catch a saumont, Maister Max?  Ta Chief said
she was to shoot and fush, and have ta poat when she liked.  Ye'll came
the morning?"

"No, Tavish; I can't leave Kenneth; perhaps he'll want me to read to
him."

"Rest? wha's ta use o' reating to ta laddie?  If it was na for ta
toctor, wha's a clever chiel' wi ta rod, what should we do?"

For the doctor stayed on, combining pleasure with work, seeing Kenneth
two or three times a day, and fishing in the intervals.

"I shall never be able to repay you for your kindness, Curzon," said The
Mackhai one morning.

"My dear sir," said the doctor, "you pay me every day.  I never lived
better; I never had a more comfortable room; and I never had better
fishing."

"You are satisfied?"

"Satisfied!  My dear sir, I am congratulating myself every hour upon my
luck in being able to exchange my poor services for such comfortable
quarters and excellent sport."

"Kenneth owes his life to you, and I shall never be sufficiently
grateful."

"Well, he owes it to me because I was the nearest doctor.  Any medical
man would have done the same."

"You do not make enough of your skill."

"Nonsense, my dear sir!  If you are satisfied, I am."

"And you feel sure that he is mending fast?"

"Oh yes, certain.  The head trouble has passed now.  Poor lad! he must
have had a terrible fall.  I went with your forester yesterday, and he
showed me the place.  It's little short of a miracle that he escaped
alive."

That night Max was in Kenneth's room, waiting for him to wake up before
he said good-night, for the night was hot and the invalid had gone to
sleep.

Max was half leaning out of the open window, gazing at the sea sparkling
with light, so that it was hard to tell where the stars ended and the
reflections began.

Max was thinking.  He had had his regular letters from his father, one
of which was in answer to an apologetic epistle on his stopping so long,
and hoping that he might be allowed to stay till Kenneth was quite
recovered.

Mr Blande's letter, from the old Inn of Court, told his son that he was
not to think of returning, but to make himself at home at Dunroe, and do
everything he could to become acquainted with the place and people, at
the same time learning all he could about the fishing and shooting.

"Make yourself a country gentleman as fast as you can, and even if the
Mackhais are a little stiff and distant with you, do not resent it or
take any notice of the slight, but stay."

"That would be very unpleasant if they did behave slightingly," said Max
to himself.  "Oh, he's awake now."

He left the window and went back to Kenneth's bedside, but it was only
to find that he had merely moved restlessly, and was still fast asleep.

Max did not go back, but stood there patiently watching the sleeping
lad, till a faint sound made him start, and he stared at the window,
feeling half paralysed, for dimly seen against the darkness there as a
head visible.  Then there was more rustling, and the chest appeared; a
couple of arms were passed in, and their owner began to draw himself up.

Burglars! an attack upon the place!  What could it mean?

The intruder's face caught the light from the lamp, as he threw one leg
over the window-sill, and sat there, as if hesitating about coming
farther.

"Scoodrach!" cried Max.  "How did you get up there?"

"She climbed up."

"But how dangerous!  What made you do that?"

"She wanted to see ta young Chief, and they wadna let her come."

"How foolish of you! you might have slipped and fallen."

"They let you see her, and they tell her she shall na come.  She will
see ta young Mackhai."

He said this menacingly, as if Max were one of those who kept him away.

"But he is very ill."

"Scoodrach tid not make her ill."

"No, of course not; but go now, there's a good fellow.  You'll see him
as soon as he's better."

"She wants to see her the noo," growled the lad sullenly; "and she tries
to keep her away."

"Nothing of the kind!  Why, I tell you every morning how he is."

"Yes, but she wants to see hersel'.  She's going to tie, and they wadna
let her come oop."

"Kenneth is not going to die; he's much better."

"She wants to see for hersel'."

"Will you go down, then, as soon as you've seen?"

"She wants to know why Scoodrach canna stay, when a strange Southron
stops always in ta place."

"I am a visitor here, and was asked to stay," said Max rather stiffly;
but his words were not heard, for the young gillie had dropped into the
room, and ran barelegged and barefoot over the carpet to the bedside, to
bend down and gaze intently in Kenneth's face.

Just then a low cough was heard on the stair, and Scoodrach darted to
the window, crept out, and disappeared, just as the door-handle faintly
rattled.

Max went quickly to the window, but could only see something shadowy
creeping downward, and he would have stopped gazing down at the climber,
whose progress had a strange fascination for him, if the doctor's voice
had not taken his attention.

"Perhaps you had better shut the window.  Lovely night.  Has he been
sleeping quietly?"

"Yes."

"That's right.  Going on capitally; but do you know what time it is?"

"Yes, nearly twelve.  I was waiting for him to wake up and say
good-night before I went."

"Then you'll have to wait till to-morrow morning, my dear sir, for he is
in a deep, satisfying sleep, and I don't suppose he'll wake again.
Good-night."

He shook hands and left the room, when Max's first step was to run to
the window, and open it gently, but there was not a sound to be heard
but the lapping of the waves among the rocks below.

Time after time The Mackhai, whose manner seemed greatly softened to
him, suggested to Max that he should go fishing, shooting, or try one of
the ponies.

"The keeper will go with you," he said; "and you seem to be wasting so
much time.  Why, we are turning you into quite a hospital nurse."

"Oh no; I would rather not go without Kenneth," said Max hastily; and
The Mackhai said no more, being in doubt in his own mind whether the
refusal was from cowardice or from disinclination to leave the invalid,
who grew more fretful and impatient every day that he approached
convalescence.

"Why can't you go and fish, or shoot, or do something, Max?  You haven't
tried for the trout yet.  How I do hate to see you sitting there gaping
at a fellow!"

"Did I gape?"

"Yes; you're always gaping, or bothering me to take one of old Curzon's
doses.  I say!"

"Yes."

"See Tavvy this morning?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"That he wished you to get well, and come and catch some salmon."

"Well, it isn't my fault.  I want to get well, don't I?  A fellow can't
want to lie here always, with his back getting sore.  I say, do open the
window."

Max glanced at the window to make sure.

"It is open," he said.

"No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is.  Look!"

"Well, shut it, then.  I hate to hear the sea."

"I like it," said Max, closing the sash.

"Yes, you miserable Cockneys always do.  It gives one the horrors when
you can't go out.  Is it high tide?"

"No; quite low."

"It can't be.  Go and look."

Max went to the window and looked out.

"The rocks are bare ever so far out, and you can see all the yellow
weed."

"No, I can't."

"I meant I can."

"Well, why don't you say what you mean?  Phew! how hot this room is!
You might open a window."

Max smiled at his companion's petulance, and opened the window.

"Now, you're laughing at a poor miserable beggar."

"No, no, Kenneth," said Max, taking his hand.

"Don't do that!  I wish you wouldn't be such a molly.  Can't you say
`No, no,' without catching hold of a fellow's hand?--and one `no' is
enough.  How jolly hot it is!  See old Tonal' this morning?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"He wants to come up and play to you on the pipes."

"Did he say he would?"

"Yes; and that he'd cut his way to you if they didn't let him come.  He
was going to sharpen his broadsword this morning."

"Look here: if he came up and began to play, he'd drive me mad.  You go
down and get my double gun and some cartridges."

"What for?"

"You don't suppose I'm going to lie here and be driven mad!  I'll shoot
him like I would a hare."

"Nonsense!" said Max, laughing.

"Well, you go and let him blow to you."

"No, thank you; I hate it."

"So do I; only a chap who is going to be chief of a clan some day
mustn't say he hates the horrible old row.  Here, I shall get up."

He threw off the clothes; but Max dashed at him, and covered him to the
shoulders.

"No, no!" he cried.

"There you go with your `No, no,' again.  You're just like a great girl,
Max."

"Am I?  I'm very sorry."

"What's the good of being sorry?  Be more like a man.  Oh dear!  I am so
tired of lying here!"

"Yes, it is very tiring."

"Well, I know that.  I didn't want you to tell me.  What did Scoody
say?"

"He's very angry because they will not let him come up to you, and will
hardly speak to me."

"No wonder."

"He says it's a shame for me to be always with you, and him not allowed
to come."

"So it is.  Poor old Scoody!  Did he say `she shall came'?"

"Yes, over and over again."

"So it is a shame, poor old chap!  I'll bully father about it.  I'd a
deal rather have him here than you."

"Would you, Kenneth?"

"Yes, ever so much: hanging about one, and wanting to coddle one like an
old woman!  I hate it!"

"I'm very sorry.  I did my best to make you comfortable."

"You don't do your best.  It bores me."

"Shall I read to you a bit now?"

"No!  Bother your old books!  Who wants to lie here and be read to about
your jolly old Hentys, and Friths, and Percy Groves?  I don't want
books; I want to go out on the mountain, or in the boat, and have a
rattling good sail.  Here, I shall get up."

Max seized him and pressed him back, for he was very weak.

"The doctor says if you get out of bed, you'll faint again, same as you
did yesterday."

"All right!" said Kenneth, struggling feebly; "I want to faint the same
as I did yesterday.  It will be a change."

"Nonsense! you shall not get up."

Kenneth lay back panting.

"Oh, how I do hate you!" he cried.  "Just you wait till I get strong
again.  I'll serve you out.  Scoody and I will duck you, and get you on
the pony, and--I know!  Just you let me get a chance, and I'll send you
sailing down the falls just the same as I did."

"No, you will not."

"Oh, won't I? you'll see.  If you knock me about again like this, I'll
wait my chance, and pepper you with grouse-shot, and see how you like
that.  I say!"

"Yes, Kenneth."

"Don't say `Yes, Kenneth,' say `Yes.'  Look here: why doesn't Long Shon
come to ask how I am?"

"He does, every morning."

"He doesn't! a miserable old duck's legs!"

"But he does.  I told you so."

"That you didn't.  You take advantage of my lying here, and--Oh, I say,
you might shut that window, it does make it so hot."

Max rose to go and close the window; but Kenneth caught his hand and
held it, looking up at him wet-eyed and wistful.

"Maxy, old chap," he said softly.

"Yes."

"I am such a beast!"

"Nonsense!"

"I am.  Don't take any notice of what I say.  I feel as if I must be
disagreeable, and say all sorts of things I don't mean, and all the time
I know what a good un you are, sitting in this nasty, stuffy old room,
that smells of physic enough to knock you down."

"I like sitting with you."

"You can't, when you might be out with Tavvy and Scood.  I'd give
anything to go, and you must want to go, but you're such a good-hearted
old chap, to sit there and read for hours, and talk to a poor miserable
beggar who's never going to be well again."

"Why, you are getting on fast."

"No, I'm not.  I'm sick of these jellies, and beef-teas, and slip-slops.
I want some beef, and salmon, and grouse pie, and to get strong again.
I say, Maxy, wasn't I a fool?"

Max was silent.

"You're too good a chap to say it, but you know it was just out of
bounce, and to show off, and it served me right.  I say, you're not put
out at what I've been saying?"

"Not a bit."

"Call me a beast, and then I'll be satisfied."

"But I shouldn't be," said Max, laughing.

"Yes, do call me a beast, and forgive me.  I don't mean it, for I do
like you, Maxy, honour bright!"

"I want you to like me," said the lad gravely.

"Well, I do.  I'm as sorry as can be that I tried to frighten you, and
laughed at you.  I've been sorry lots of times since I've been lying
here; and you will not take any notice of what I said?"

"Is it likely?" cried Max eagerly.

"Not with you, I suppose," said Kenneth thoughtfully; "but I'm afraid I
should think a lot about it."

"I shall not," said Max, "so say no more."

"Then let's talk about something else; it keeps me from thinking how
miserable and weak I am.  I say, old Scood always pretended to be so
very fond of me; don't you think he might have come up and seen me?"

"You know he has always been trying."

"Oh, ah! so I do.  I forgot."

"He climbed up to the window and got in one night."

"Scoody did?  You never told me that."

"I never told anybody."

"And he got down again all safe?  Why, it was more risky than climbing
up a rock.  You tell him he must not do it again."

"I have told him."

"I'll ask my father to let him come up and see me, poor chap.  He likes
me, you see, Max.  I say, I am so dull and miserable, you might do one
thing for me."

"Yes: what shall I do?"

"Go and fetch the dogs.  I want to see them."

Max nodded, and had reached the door, when Kenneth called him back.

"What is it?" said Max, staring, as he saw Kenneth's thin white hands
stretched out towards him, and a peculiar look on his face, which looked
the more strange from its having a long strapping of plaster across his
brow.

Kenneth made no reply, only held out his hand.

Max grasped his meaning, and caught the hand in his, to hold it tightly,
the two lads gazing in each other's eyes as a strong friendship was
cemented between them, one far more binding than Kenneth could have
imagined in his wildest dreams.

"There; I'm going to fetch the dogs," said Max hastily, and he ran out
of the room, and down and out into the castle yard, where, to his
horror, the first person he saw was old Donald, looking more wild and
strange than ever.

Max backed into the archway leading to the house, hoping he had not been
seen, but the old man uttered what was meant for a cry of delight, and,
smiling at him, began to beckon with his hand and arm.

"What shall I do?" muttered Max, as the old man came up and tried to
catch hold of his arm.

"Hey, bonnie laddie!" he cried, in a confidential whisper.  "She's been
watching for ye.  She's chust made ta peautiful new dirge, and she shall
play it to you up in ta toor."

"No, no," cried Max desperately.  "The young Mackhai has sent me on a
message."

"Ou ay!  Put she'll not pe long.  It was a peautiful music, and ye--Ta
Southron laddie's gane!"

It was quite true, for Max had darted back and run to the dining-room,
to get round by the terrace, and so by the rocks to the other side of
the ruins, in search of the dogs.

There he came suddenly upon Scoodrach, lying on his chest in the sun,
and with his chin in his hands, gazing up at the window of Kenneth's
room.

"Here! hi, Scoodrach!" cried Max; and the lad looked at him scowling.
"Kenneth has sent me to fetch--"

Scoodrach sprang up, with his whole manner changed.

"She's sent her to fetch me?" he cried eagerly.

"No, no; to fetch--the dogs."

A savage look of anger flashed into the lad's face, and he stood with
his hands working.

"Na, na," he cried hoarsely; "it's a lee!  Ta young Chief sent her to
fetch his gillie, and she's trying to keep her awa'!"

"I told you the truth," cried Max, almost as angrily.  "Here, Sneeshing,
Sneeshing!" he cried, as he caught sight of the dog a hundred yards
away; and the quaint-looking little terrier pricked up his ears, looked
round, caught sight of the two boys, and came helter-skelter towards
them.

The effect of this dash was for a sharp bark to be heard, and Dirk came
into view, with his plume-like tail waving; while, before he was
half-way toward Max, Bruce came, making greyhound-like bounds and
evidently in a great state of excitement.

"Good dogs! good dogs, then!" cried Max, patting them; but they received
his caresses in rather a cool manner, and Bruce, who seemed
disappointed, was about to turn off and go, when Max bent over
Sneeshing.

The dog looked up at him curiously.

"Come along," said Max; "your master wants to see you."

The words had hardly left his lips, when Dirk made a bound, and rushed
off toward the open dining-room, window, behaviour which evidently
puzzled the great deerhound, who watched the collie for a few moments,
and then dashed off, followed by Sneeshing, who, however, responded to a
call, and, after looking inquiringly in the speaker's eyes, he followed
him toward the house.

Max stopped short at the end of a few yards and turned, to see Scoodrach
walking slowly away.

"Scoody!" he called to him; "you are to come up and see him soon."

"Tak' ta togs! tak' ta togs!" said the young gillie bitterly.  "She
can't want to see me."

The collie and deerhound had both disappeared through the dining-room
window; but it was as Max suspected: when he and the terrier reached the
landing, Bruce was seated on the mat at Kenneth's chamber, and Dirk
lying down blinking at him, and every now and then snuffling and
thrusting his nose close to the bottom of the door.

As Max raised his hand to turn the handle, Dirk could contain himself no
longer, and uttered a loud bark, the answer to which was a faintly-heard
call from within the bedroom.

But, faint or no, it was enough to drive the dogs half wild; and, as Max
opened the door, they gave vent to a canine trio, and dashed through
quite a narrow crack, Bruce and Dirk together, for the great hound
bounded over the collie, while in his excitement Sneeshing went
head-over-heels into the room, but only to dash up to the bed, on to the
chair at the side, and then to snuggle in close down to his master,
while the others leaped on from opposite sides, and began pawing at the
invalid and licking his hand.

"Down! down, dogs!" cried Max excitedly, in alarm lest they should
injure the patient in his weak state.  But, as he ran at the bed, Dirk
and Bruce set up their bristles and uttered menacing growls, while
Sneeshing thrust his rough head from under the clothes and added his
remonstrance in the same canine way.

"Let 'em alone, Maxy; they're only glad to see their old master again,"
cried Kenneth, as he began to stroke the dogs' heads.  "Quiet, old boys!
Friends, friends!  Come and pat 'em, Maxy; they mustn't bark at you.
Friends, Dirk!  Friends, Bruce lad!"

"How!"

"Hooorr!"

The utterances of the two dogs, as they accepted their master's orders,
and began patting the white counterpane with their tails, while
Sneeshing uttered a series of short barks, shook his head, and shuffled
backwards, evidently laughing dogly with delight, and ending by getting
his muzzle on Kenneth's breast and lying quite still.

"Oh, I say, this is a treat!" said Kenneth, with a sigh of satisfaction,
as his hands were busy pulling the dogs' ears, and drawing the skin
sideways, so as to show the whites of their eyes.

"Don't let them stay long."

"Why not?  Does me more good than old Curzon's dollops.  I'll get up
to-morrow, and have the boat for a sail."

Dirk set up his ears at this, and began to bark as if he understood,
and, rising on all-fours, he pawed at Kenneth, as he would have done at
a sick sheep on the mountain-side, to make it rise.

The result of this action was to make Sneeshing resent the caressing of
the intrusive paw, which twice over scraped him, and he snapped at,
seized it, and held on.

Dirk howled out, "Don't! you hurt!" in dog.

Bruce gave vent to an angry bark at Sneeshing, who, however, held the
tighter, uttering a low worrying snarl.

"Let me send them away now, Kenneth!" cried Max.

"What?  Why, it's glorious!  Hold tight, Sneeshing!"

A tremendous barking began now, for Dirk was losing his temper, and in
another minute he would have dragged Sneeshing out of his snug place,
for he had seized him by the loose skin at the back of his neck, when
Kenneth shouted at them, and the disturbance ceased.

"I say, Max," he cried, "did you ever see Sneeshing dance the fling?
No, I never showed you.  Here, give me those joints of my fly-rod," and
he pointed to them in a corner of the room.

Max fetched them; and as Kenneth took them and let them fall over his
shoulder, Sneeshing shuffled out of the bedclothes and began to bark.

"Draw out that pillow," said Kenneth.

Max obeyed wonderingly; and rather feebly, but laughing the while,
Kenneth tucked the pillow half under his left arm.

"What are you going to do?" cried Max.

"Wait a moment, and you'll see.  Get back, you two--get back!"

Dirk and Bruce backed to the bottom of the bed, and sat up watching
eagerly, while Sneeshing threw up his head and howled.

"Quiet, stupid!" cried Kenneth; "it isn't Tonal'."

"How wow!" howled Sneeshing.

"Be quiet, sir!  Yes, I will."

He threatened the dog with one of the joints of the rod, and then threw
it back over his left shoulder, as he lay with his head raised, and
began to squeeze the pillow in imitation of a bag with its pipes.

"Now, Sneeshing, go ahead!  Give us the Hieland Fling!"

Then, in imitation of the pipes, Kenneth began, and not badly,--

"Waugh! waugh!" and went on with the air "Tullochgorum," but Sneeshing
only threw up his head and howled.

"Do you want me to whack you?" cried Kenneth.  "Now, then, up you go,
and we'll begin again."

"Waugh! waugh!"

Sneeshing had flinched from the rod, and now he gave his master a
piteous look, but rose up on his hind legs and began to lift first one
and then the other, drooping his forepaws and then raising them as he
turned solemnly round to the imitation music.  Twice over he came down
on all-fours, for the bed was very soft and awkward on account of
Kenneth's legs and its irregularities, but he rose up again, and the
mock pipes were in full burst, and the dogs who formed the audience
evidently in a great state of excitement, as they blinked and panted,
when there was a tremendous roar of laughter, which brought all to a
conclusion, the dogs barking furiously as Mr Curzon came forward with
The Mackhai.

"Bravo! bravo!" he exclaimed.  "There, I don't think you will want any
more of my physic now."

Kenneth lay back, looking sadly shamefaced; and his father half-pleased,
half-annoyed, as he opened the door and dismissed the dogs, but not
unkindly.

"I'm glad to see you so much better, Ken."

"Thank you, father.  I was only showing Max--"

"How much better you are!" interposed the doctor.  "Well, I'm very glad;
only I'd lie still now.  Don't overdo it.  There, Mr Mackhai, I have
done.  Thank you for your hospitality.  I can go to-morrow."

"No; you'll stop and have a few days' fishing."

"Not one more, thank you; but if I am up here next year, and you would
let me have a day or two on your water, I should be glad."

"As many days as you like, sir, for the rest of your life," said The
Mackhai warmly, "for you saved that of my boy."

Ten minutes after, when they went down-stairs, Kenneth said,--

"I say, Max, what a humbug I must have looked!  But I am ever so much
better.  I hope old Curzon will come and fish next year."

While down-stairs his father was angrily walking up and down his study.

"As many days as he likes for the rest of his life!" he exclaimed
fiercely.  "Idiot--ass that I have been, and that I am, to offer that
which at any hour may belong to some one else."

"Well," he added, after a pause, "folly receives its punishments, and
the greatest of all follies is to game."



CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

THE STAG MAX DID NOT SHOOT.

"I say, Max!" said Kenneth one day, as they sat at either end of a boat,
whipping away at the surface of the rippling water of one of the inland
lochs, up to which the said boat had been dragged years before, upon
rough runners like a sleigh, partly by the ponies, partly by hand
labour.  Scoodrach was seated amidships, rowing slowly, and every now
and then tucking his oar under his leg, to give his nose a rub, and
grumble something about "ta flee."

This was on the occasion when the fly Max was throwing came dangerously
near hooking into the gristle of the young gillie's most prominent
feature.

Kenneth did not finish his sentence, for just then he hooked a trout
which gave him a fair amount of play before it was brought alongside,
where Scoodrach, who had ceased rowing, was ready with the landing-net.

"Let me land it," cried Max; and, taking the net, he held it as he had
seen Scoodrach perform the same operation a score of times.

"All right!" cried Kenneth.  "He's a beauty; pound and a half, I know.
Now then--right under."

Kenneth's elastic rod was bent nearly double, as Max leaned forward,
and, instead of lowering the net well into the water so that the fish
might glide into it, he made an excited poke, and struck the fish with
the ring; there was a faint whish as the rod suddenly straightened; a
splash as the trout flapped the water with its tail and went off free,
and Max and Kenneth stared at each other.

"She couldna hae done tat," muttered Scoodrach.

"Yes, you could, stupid!" said Kenneth, glad of some one upon whom he
could vent his spleen.  "You've knocked ever so many fish off that way."

"I'm very, very sorry," said Max humbly.

"That won't bring back the trout," grumbled Kenneth.  "Never mind, old
chap, I'll soon have another.  Why don't you go on throwing?"

"Because I am stupid over it.  I shall never throw a fly properly."

"Not if you give up without trying hard.  Go on and have another good
turn.  Whip away.  It'll come easier soon."

Max went on whipping away, but his success was very small, for he grew
more and more nervous as he saw that Scoodrach flinched every time he
made a cast, as if the hook had come dangerously near his eyes.

Once or twice there really had been reason for this, but, seeing how
nervous it made Max, Scoodrach kept it up, taking a malicious delight in
ducking his head, rubbing his nose, and fidgeting the tyro, who would
gladly have laid down his rod but for the encouraging remarks made by
Kenneth.

All at once the latter turned his head, from where he stood in the bows
of the boat, and began watching Max, smiling grimly as he saw how clumsy
a cast was made, and the smile grew broader as he noticed Scoodrach's
exaggerated mock gesticulations of dread.

Then there was another cast, and Scood ducked his head down again.  Then
another cast, and Scood threw his head sideways and held up one arm, but
this time the side of his bare head came with a sounding rap up against
the butt of Kenneth's rod.

"Mind what you're doing!" shouted Kenneth.

"Hwhat tid ye do that for?" cried Scoodrach, viciously rubbing his
sconce.

"Do it for?  Why don't you sit still, and not get throwing your head
about all over the boat?"

"She tid it o' purpose," growled Scoodrach; "and she's cooard to hit a
man pehind her pack."

"If you call me a coward, Scoody, I'll pitch you overboard."

"No, she wouldna.  She has not get pack her strength."

"Then Max will help me, and we'll see then."

"Pitch her overboard, then, and she'll swim ashore, and she'll hae to
row ta poat her ainsel'."

But Scoodrach had no occasion to swim, for he was not pitched overboard;
and, as the wind dropped and the water became like glass, the rods were
laid in, and Scoodrach rowed them along in sulky silence toward the
shore; Kenneth, as he sat now beside his companion, returning to the
idea he had been about to start some time before.

"I say, Max," he said, "I wonder what's the matter with father.  I wish
old Curzon was here.  I think the pater is going to be ill."

"I hope not."

"So do I; but he always seems so dull, and talks so little."

"I thought he seemed to be very quiet."

"Quiet!  I should think he is.  Why, he used to be always going out
shooting or fishing, and taking me.  Now, he's continually going to
Glasgow on business, or else to Edinburgh."

"When do you expect him back?"

"I don't know.  He said it was uncertain.  Perhaps he'll be there when
we get home."

But The Mackhai was not back, and a fortnight elapsed, and still he was
away.

The last few days seemed to have quite restored Kenneth, who, once able
to be out on the mountains, recovered strength at a wonderful rate.

Those were delightful days to Max.  His old nervousness was rapidly
leaving him, and he was never happier than when out with the two lads
fishing, shooting, boating, or watching Kenneth as he stood spear-armed
in the bows, trying to transfix some shadowy skate as it glided as if
flying over the sandy bottom of the sea-loch.

One grandly exciting day to Max was on the occasion of a deer-stalking
expedition, which resulted, through the clever generalship of Tavish, in
both lads getting a good shot at a stag.

Max was first, and, after a long, wearisome climb, he lay among some
rocks for quite a couple of hours, with Tavish, watching a herd of deer,
before the time came when, under the forester's guidance, the deadly
rifle, which Max had found terribly heavy, was rested upon a stone, and
Tavish whispered to him,--

"Keep ta piece steady on ta stane, laddie, and when ta stag comes well
oot into ta glen, ye'll chust tak' a glint along ta bar'l and aim richt
at ta showlder, and doon she goes."

Max's hands trembled, his heart beat fast, and the perspiration stood on
his brow, as he waited till, from out of a narrow pass which they had
been watching, a noble-looking stag trotted slowly into the glen, and,
broadside on, turned its head in their direction.

Max saw the great eyes, the branching antlers, and, in his excitement,
the forest monarch seemed to be of huge proportions.

"Noo!" was whispered close to his ear; and, "glinting" along the barrel,
after fixing the sight right upon the animal's flank, Max drew the
trigger, felt as if some one had struck him a violent blow in the
shoulder, and then lay there on his chest, gazing at a cloud of smoke
and listening to the rolling echoes as they died away.

"Aweel, aweel!" said a voice close by him, in saddened tones.  "Ye're
verra young, laddie.  Ye'll hae to try again."

"Isn't it dead?" said Max.

"Na, she's no' deid, laddie."

"But I don't see it.  Where is the stag?"

"Ahint the mountain yonder, laddie; going like the wind."

"Oh!" said Max; and for the next few minutes he did not know which way
he felt--sorry he had missed, or glad that the noble beast had got away.

Kenneth was more successful.  He brought down his quarry a couple of
hours later, and the rough pony carried home the carcase for Long Shon
to break up, Max partaking of a joint of the venison a few days later,
and thinking it was very good, and that he enjoyed it all the more for
not having shot the animal himself,--though he could not help telling
Kenneth that the fat seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth.



CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

KENNETH RESISTS THE LAW.

Three more days glided by, spent in hunting and fishing.  Max succeeded
in spearing one skate himself, and was nearly pulled out of the boat by
the curious fish as it made its final struggle for life.  And then a
momentous day came, when, after spending the morning in having a
glorious sail, during which, as there was a splendid breeze, Max had
felt quite comfortable, as he sat well to windward, holding on by the
gunwale and helping to act as ballast to keep the boat from going over
under the great press of sail Kenneth insisted upon carrying, they ran
softly in under shelter of the rocks, and were approaching the castle
landing-place, when Tavish came rushing up breathlessly.

"Come oot!" he roared.  "Come oot, laddies!"

"What's the matter, Tavvy?  Has my father--"

"Nay, laddie; he's no' come back.  Come oot! come oot!"

The boat was run in, Scoodrach left to moor her, and Kenneth leaped
ashore.

"What's wrong?" he cried, as he was saluted by a burst of baying from
the dogs, which had been waiting their master's return.

"Wrang, my laddie?  She had to gang doon to Kinlochai, and there she
found ta bailies."

"What, at the farm?"

"At ta fairm, laddie, noo.  An ugly, pock-faaced chief wi' hauf a dizzen
loons asked me ta way to Dunroe.  He's a bailie coming to tak' ta
place."

"What?  Nonsense, Tavvy!"

"Hey, but it's nae nonsense, laddie, for she met Dooncan Graeme, and
Dooncan knew her at Glasgie.  She's ta bailie, and she's coming to tak'
ta Dunroe."

"Then she isn't going to have it!" cried Kenneth, flushing.  "Bailiffs,
indeed!  It's all some stupid mistake."

"She rin on to tall ye, but ye were awa'," panted Tavish, whose face was
streaming.

"They're just here, then?" said Kenneth excitedly.

"Na; she was askit ta way to Dunroe, and she sent them richt doon
through ta mountains, laddie; and they'll nivver get here till some ane
sets them richt."

"Bravo, Tavish!  But it must be all some mistake."

"Nay, laddie, it's no meestake.  Ta Chief canna pay some siller, and ta
bailie's coming to tak' Dunroe."

"Is he?" cried Kenneth fiercely.  "We'll see about that.  Call Long
Shon."

"She's in ta castle, laddie, getting ta auld gates to.  She was going to
shut ta gates and keep ta bailie oot."

"Bravo, Tavvy!  Does Grant know?"

"Oh ay, and ivery ane's helping."

"That's the beauty of having a castle to live in, Maxy.  No one can get
in when the tide's up except through the old gateway; and it isn't
everybody who can manage it when the tide's down.  I say, you won't
help, will you?"

"Help! of course!" cried Max excitedly.  "But what are you going to do?"

"Do! shut up the old gates.  They can't scale the rock, and they've got
no boats, so we'll let them besiege us.  Bah! when they find the place
locked, they'll go back.  Come on."

Kenneth hurried them through the house from the rock terrace, leaving
the boat swinging to the buoy, and, followed by Tavish, Scoodrach, and
the dogs, the two lads made for the old castle yard, whose outer
entrance was the only way in unless scaling ladders were brought.

Here Grant and Long Shon, with old Tonal' to help, were busily fixing
props against the old gates which had been dragged to.

"Hurray!  Bravo, Grant!  Well done, Shon!  That's it, Tonal'!  That's
fast.  No one can get in here."

Max entered into the spirit of the thing with the most intense
enjoyment, following Kenneth through the mouldering old gate tower, and
up a crumbling staircase to the broken battlements, of which there was
still enough round to allow of any one walking to and fro behind the
broken crenelation, between whose teeth they could look down on any one
coming up the rocky path from the edge of the bay.

The old castle had never before looked so romantic to Max, and he
thoroughly realised now how great must have been its strength in ancient
days, towering up as it did on the huge promontory of rock, whose sides
were steep enough to save it from attack when enemies approached it from
the land, the one path being narrow, while from the other side only a
foe provided with war galleys could have landed on the terrace, and then
beneath the defenders' fire.

"We're going to have the siege of Dunroe!" cried Kenneth excitedly.
"Now, Grant, and you, Long Shon, help and get up the arms, and we'll
defend the place till my father comes."

"But ye mauna shute," said Long Shon.

"Who's going to, Shon?  We'll fire something else;" and he gave orders
which the old butler, the men, and even the maids hastened to execute,
till the battlements and the broad tower over the gateway, which was
furnished with the openings called machicolations, used for dropping
missiles on an approaching enemy, were fairly well furnished with
ammunition.

"How about provisions?" cried Kenneth, as an idea suddenly struck him.

"Ou, there's plenty, Master Kenneth," said the butler grimly, as he
rather enjoyed what was going on.  "There's half the deer you shot,
beside the mutton, and plenty of kippered saumon."

"Oh ay; and if they try to starve us," cried Tavish, "we can catch fush
from the rock at high water ivery day."

The preparations went merrily on, every one working in the old Highland
spirit, and seeming indued with the idea that it was a duty to defend
the home of the Chief of the Clan Mackhai against the enemy that was
expected--an enemy that must be baffled at all hazards.

Old Tonal' was the most excited of all, rushing here and there, and
getting in everybody's way.  One minute he was hurrying off to fetch his
pipes, and seemed ready to blow.  Then he was off again to put them
away, to come forth again and go round the castle as far as was possible
on the battlements, to see whether there was a weak spot where the foe
might get in.

He had completed one of these examinations, and then came to where
Kenneth was giving orders.

"Whusht, laddie!" he whispered confidentially.

"Hullo, Tonal', you?"

"Ay!  Whusht!"

"Ready to fight, Tonal'?"

"Ay, she'll fecht! she'll fecht for ta auld hame!  But whusht, laddie!"

"Eh?" cried Kenneth; "what is it?"

"Stanes, laddie, stanes."

"Stanes! what about 'em?"

"Gin ye--but whusht!--gin ye had aboot sax hundert stanes a' retty on ta
toor, she could ding them a' doon on ta caterans' heads."

"Ah, but we might break their heads, Tonal'.  No, no; something softer
than that.  We'll have water."

"Watter?  Watter, laddie?" cried the old piper contemptuously.  "D'ye
want to wash ta enemies o' ta hoose?  Stanes,--gran' stanes,--and she'll
ding them doon."

"No, no, Tonal'; that will not do."

The old man stood staring in wonder and disgust as Kenneth hurried away;
but directly after he caught sight of Max, and, raising his hand and
crooking one finger, he morally took the lad into custody as he
approached him slowly.

"He will na hearken aboot ta stanes, laddie," whispered the old man
mysteriously; "but sneeshing, laddie, sneeshing?"

"He's along with Scoodrach," said Max, pointing toward the dog.  "There
he goes yonder."

"Na, na, sneeshing--chust a wee pinch."

"Oh no, I have no snuff," said Max.

"Nae sneeshing!" muttered the old man, looking round; "she has nae
sneeshing!"

"Hey!" shouted Scoodrach suddenly; "here they come."

Every one hurried to one or other of the openings to look at the
approaching enemy, while Tavish stamped savagely on the stones.

"She's askit somebody and she's set 'em richt.  She didna aught to be
here for hoors and hoors, if she cam' back at a'."

"Never mind, Tavish!" shouted Kenneth; "we'll soon send them to the
right-about."

"Hey, ta foe! ta foe!" yelled Tonal', throwing his hands in the air, and
yelling at the group about him, before hurrying away and disappearing in
the crumbling opening of the corner tower, high up in which he composed
his wonderful melodies for the pipes.

"Look at auld Tonal'!" cried Scoodrach; "she's gane into her hole like a
mause."

But no one turned to look at Tonal', for the enemy were approaching
fast,--eight or nine sturdy-looking men, headed by a fair, round-faced
fellow, speckled and splashed with freckles, so that his countenance was
quite yellow, out of which peered, from under a pair of rugged sandy
brows, two unpleasant-looking red-rimmed eyes, which blinked and peered
and searched about as sharply as those of a monkey, waiting for the
keeper with his daily quantum of carrot and dessert of nuts.

This man turned for a moment and said something to his followers.  Then
he took off his flat Tam o' Shanter and gave his head a vicious scratch,
which seemed to have the effect of removing a little more of his hair.
This, however, was not the fact, only seeming, as his head was bare in
patches.  Then, replacing his bonnet, he took out a greasy old
pocket-book, gave it a slap, and, holding his head on one side like a
magpie as he drew out the tuck, he peered in, and took out a piece of
folded paper, which he held with his teeth till he had closed and
replaced the pocket-book.

Next he took hold of the paper, thrust his hand into his coat tail,
pulled out a ragged red cotton handkerchief, and blew his nose.

Max burst into a roar of laughter, in which Kenneth joined, for to both
lads the sounding blast which followed suggested that this was the
enemy's trumpet summoning them to surrender.

The man stared, and one of his followers touched him on the shoulder.

"They're haeing the laugh at ye, mon," he said.

"Haud yer gab.  They'll be laughing the ither side o' the mooth sune."

He walked right up toward the gate, and then started, for Kenneth
shouted, "Hallo!" in a sharp, half-menacing way.

"Mr Mackhai at home?" said the man.

"No, he is not.  What do you want?"

"Mr Mackhai."

"Well, you can't see him; he's out.  I'm his son."

"Then ye'll just come doon and show me the way in."

"You mean the way out."

"Oh no, I don't, my whipper-snapper.  Is this the way?"

"No."

"Then which is?" said the man, looking to right and left.

"There is no way in for you," said Kenneth; and a murmur of applause
followed the words.

"Look ye here, my lad," said the man, holding out his paper.  "D'ye see
this?"

"Oh yes, I can see it," cried Kenneth.  "Here, Scoody, this gentleman
wants a light for his pipe; throw him a box of matches."

"No nonsense, please," cried the man.  "I come in the name of the law.
Sandy, gang and ope that gate."

"Gin ye gang that gate," roared Tavish, "I'll break the head o' ye."

The man who had stepped forward, started back at this menacing warning,
for Tavish suddenly appeared standing up like a giant near the gateway,
with something which looked like a great stone in his hand.

"Put that doon, mon," cried the bailiff.  "Ye'll be getting into
trouble.  Now, young sir, come doon and ope the gate, and read this
paper.  I take possession here in the name of the law."

"All right!" cried Kenneth mockingly.  "Take away."

There was a laugh, and Kenneth shouted again,--

"Hi, Grant! you can show him how to take away."

"Are you going to open these gates, sir, and let us in?" cried the
bailiff, as soon as a hearty laugh had subsided.

"No."

"Are you going to tell your men to open, then?"

"No, I'm not."

"Do you know that you are resisting the law, young sir?"

"No, but I know I'm resisting you."

"By this paper I have proper warrant to take possession of all here."

"Have you?  Well, I don't care what warrant you have.  My father's out,
and I'm not going to let a set of ragged-looking Southroners come and do
what they please in Dunroe."

"I tell you, I have a proper warrant for taking possession."

"Then put it back in your pocket, and come again when my father's at
home."

"Look here, me laddie, it'll be a bad day's wark for ye, if ye resist
the law."

"You be off, and come again when my father's at home, I tell you."

"I've come a' these lang miles, me laddie, and I'm no' gaeing back
wi'out takking possession.  Noo, ance mair, will ye open the gates?"

"No."

"Then we must break them in."

"Mind we don't break your head in, then, that's all."

"If ye daur!"

"Oh, we daur.  Don't we, Scood?"

"Oh ay," roared the young gillie.

The bailiff walked back to his men, whispered a few orders, and then
turned once more to Kenneth, who was standing now well in sight on the
crumbling battlements, with Max by his side.

"Noo, my laddie, let's hae a' this bet o' besness settled doucely.
Ye'll come doon and open the gates?"

"No surrender!" cried Kenneth.

"Ye'll hae the gates opened?"

"No; so blow your trumpet again.  Defiance!  There!"

He took a clean aim with a great potato; and the bailiff had to dodge
the shot very sharply, to avoid receiving the blow on his cheek.

But the shot was not wasted, for a man behind had it full in the chest,
and a shout arose.

"That will do!" cried the bailiff.  "You've struck a blow, so you must
put up with the consequences.  Noo, my lads, come on!"



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

HOW DONALD PLAYED THE WAR MARCH.

The bailiff turned to his men and gave them an order, whose effect was
to make them shuffle together.

"You hear me, sir!" cried the bailiff.  "You struck the first blow."

"You lie, you bun-faced Southroner!" cried Kenneth.  "You made the first
blow in that old pocket-handkerchief."

"Will you surrender?"

"No!"

"Then come on, my lads.  Forward!"

"Hurray! hurray!" shouted Ken, pointing upwards; and the bailiff and his
men stopped and stared with open mouths at the scene.

"Look, Max!  Look, Scoody!  Hurray!  Mackhai!  Mackhai!"

A shrill, piercing, cracked old voice echoed the cry from above, and the
lads on the crumbling battlements over the gateway, where they stood
ready with pails of water for sending down through the machicolations,
stood gazing at a tall weird figure in full war-paint, with the front of
his bonnet cocked up with its eagle pinion feathers, his grey hair
flying in the breeze, his eyes flashing, tartan scarf buckled with his
great cairngorm brooch, as old Tonal' climbed slowly into sight, and
stood on the narrow ledge of battlement at the very top of the
right-hand tower.

"Ta Mackhai!" he yelled.  "Ta Mackhai!" and, as he stood there, with
scarf and kilt fluttering about his tall, lean old figure, he looked
like one of the ancient fighting men of the clan come back from the
Middle Ages to battle in defence of his chief.

"Ta Mackhai!  Ta Mackhai!" he yelled again, in answer to a tremendous
cheer from the party within.

"Come doon, ye auld idgit!" shouted the bailiff.

"Ta Mackhai!  Ta Mackhai!" yelled Tonal'; and, raising an old claymore
in one hand, his dirk in the other, to the full stretch of his long
arms, he shrieked out,--

"Doon wi' ta caterans!  Doon wi' ta Lowland loons!  Mackhai!  Mackhai!
Fecht, laddies! fecht!  Hech! hech! hech!  Hurray!"

"Hech! hech! hech!  Hurray!" shouted Kenneth, roaring with laughter.
"Fecht, laddies, fecht!"

The weird-looking old piper waved his claymore wildly about his head,
and it flashed in the sun; but in his efforts he nearly toppled off the
tower headlong down to the front of the castle.  He made a snatch at the
ancient crenelation, and, to the horror of all, a quantity of the
crumbling stone fell with a crash, and, but for a rapid dash backward,
two of the bailiffs men would have been crushed.

But, active still as a wild cat, the old man saved himself; and, though
one of his legs came right over the front, and he lay on his face for a
few moments, he climbed back, stood erect again, planted one foot on the
remaining crenele, and raised his flashing broadsword, tore off his
bonnet, dashed it down, and, as his thin long grey hair streamed out in
the sea breeze, he yelled once more,--

"Mackhai!  Mackhai!  Fecht, laddies, fecht!"

Then he disappeared.

"He's coming down with his old carving-knife, Maxy," cried Kenneth,
wiping the tears from his eyes.  "I shall have to go and lock the old
chap up, or he'll do some one a mischief."

"Hi, there!" shouted the bailiff; and his voice was the signal for the
three dogs to burst into a tremendous trio of barking.  "Look here, I
give you fair warning.  You're resisting the law, and it'll be the worse
for you if any one of my men is hurt."

"Come roond and we'll pitch ye all into ta watter!" shouted Scoodrach.

"Yes, come round the other side, you bun-faced looking bailiff!" cried
Kenneth; and the defenders uttered a fresh cheer, while Grant in his
excitement took off his black coat and white cravat, and rolled up his
sleeves, before putting on an apron one of the maids had fetched.

"Hurray, Grant! you look as if you were going to clean the plate," cried
Max excitedly.

"I'm going to take care, sir, that that scum does not touch it," said
Grant, with dignity.  "Well done, laddie!" he added to himself.  "I'm
beginning to like him after a'."

"Are you going to open this gate?" cried the bailiff, waving his piece
of blue paper.

"Yes, when you are gone," cried Kenneth, stooping quickly, picking a
potato out of the basket at his feet, and throwing it with such good aim
that it struck the bailiff in the chest.

This was the signal for a general discharge, Max and Scoodrach hurling
potatoes with all their might at the attacking party, and with more or
less good aim.

"Oh, if they'd only come close in ready for the boiling lead!" cried
Kenneth.

"Here, Shon!" shouted Max, whose face was crimson with excitement; "more
potatoes--I mean cannon balls.  Bring up a sack."

"It'll be the worse for you," shouted the bailiff.  "Come on, my lads,
in with you!"

There was a rush made for the gateway, but a shower of vegetable bullets
came now from the whole force of defenders, Tavish throwing two at a
time, and Long Shon hitting every shot.

This checked the advance for a moment, and just then old Tonal'
reappeared at the front of the tower, with his hair streaming out like
the tail of a silvery comet.  The old man's face was puffed out and red,
for now, in place of his claymore and dirk, he had his pipes in hand.

"Fecht, laddies, fecht!" he yelled; and, in spite of his being such an
anachronism, there was something grand now in the wild old figure, as he
stood there in full view, from crown to buckled shoon, claymore
sheathed, the jewels in his dirk sparkling, and the sun flashing from
his eyes as he yelled out, "Ta slogan of ta Mackhai!  Mackhai!
Mackhai!"

"Oh, do hold me, Maxy, or I shall go overboard," cried Kenneth, as he
held his sides and roared with laughter, for the old retainer sent forth
a tremendous blast from his pipes, which came echoing back from the
walls within, as he marched up and down at the front of the crumbling
tower about eight steps each way, blowing with all his might, his
efforts being responded to by fresh cheers from the little garrison.

"Hurrah!  Hech!  Hurrah!" cried Tavish, who was infected by the
excitement and the national music.  "Hey, but we will fecht, Maister
Ken! we'll die for ye.  Oh, it's crand--it's crand!"

"Fecht, then, all o' ye," cried Kenneth, taking up the broad dialect;
and then roaring to those in the yard, "You girls, bring up everything
you can.  Never mind what it is--anything we can throw."

A shrill scream of delight came from within, and, as the dogs barked
furiously, the old piper still stamped up and down and played the war
march of the Clan Mackhai.

"Don't stand glowering at that owd gowk," cried the bailiff.  "Come on!"

The men murmured, and held back, as the ammunition kept flying, and they
had to dodge the missiles, some of the younger men catching the potatoes
and throwing them back.

"Stop that, some of ye," cried the bailiff.  "Ye're no' playing crecket.
Noo then, forward!"

This time his followers obeyed, and they made a rush, to be received by
a tremendous volley, which produced first blood, Scoodrach having sent a
big Dalmahoy or a Scotch Regent--this is a doubtful point in the
chronicle of the attack and defence of Dunroe--and hit one of the
bailiff's men full in the nose, one of Max's shots taking effect at the
same time in a man's eye, and the first of the wounded staggered back to
the hospital ambulance; in other words, he bolted down the rocks to the
water's edge and began to bathe his face.

Another shout, though, from the bailiff, and the assaulting party
charged home right up to the gateway, and began to thunder and thrust at
the crumbling old gates, which were, however, held fast by the wooden
props and stones.

"We can't get through here," grumbled one man.  "Is there no other way?"

"No, not without a latter," said another.

"Then let's fetch a latter."

"No, no; push all together, and down the gates will go.  They can't hit
us here."

Squish, splash, wash, came down a perfect torrent of water through the
machicolations, as what Kenneth called "the boiling lead" was brought to
bear through the openings left by the old architect for the defence of
the gate.

"No, no, no; don't rin!" cried the bailiff; "it's only watter."

Plosh!

Half a pailful poured down by Max came full upon the speaker's head, and
he turned and headed the stampede, amidst the roars of laughter of the
defenders.

"Yah! it's a' doon me back--it's a' doon me back," snarled the bailiff,
stamping with fury, as he dashed the water out of his hat, and wrung his
clothes, to the great delight of his men as well.

"Ye shall a' pay for this!" he shouted, as he waved the wet paper he
held.  "Ye'll know ye're reseesting the law."

"Come and have another shower-bath!" cried Max.

"Yes, you want it!" roared Kenneth.  "Bring some more ammunition.  Hi,
Tonal', play up, auld mon!"

"Fecht, laddies, fecht!" shouted back the old piper, as he took the
piece from his lips for a moment.

"Yes, we'll fecht!" cried Kenneth.

"Gin ye come here, ye togs, she'll slit a' yer weams!" yelled Scoodrach
excitedly; and then there was a pause, for the bailiff was holding a
consultation, and then he pointed down to the beach.

"What's he pointing at?" said Kenneth, as his followers placed fresh
ammunition--the wet and the dry--ready.

"I know," cried Max.  "That old bit of a mast."

"What, the broken topmast of the wreck?"

"Yes.  They're going to fetch it, and make a battering-ram to knock down
the gate."

"Then we'll half drown the beggars," cried Kenneth.  "More water here!
Cookie, let's have some hot."

"Hey, but ye shall have sax pots fu', Maister Kenneth," cried the woman,
and in a very short time, as the bailiffs men went down to get the old
spar, six kettles and saucepans of boiling water were brought up into
the old broken gateway tower.

"Pour it into the pails, and soften it down, Maxy.  We mustn't give it
to 'em too hot," cried Kenneth.

"How much cold shall I put?"

"Half and half; that'll suit 'em.  Shall I give 'em some whisky and
sugar with it, Grant?"

"Nay, nay," cried the old butler; "and don't make it too cold, or
there'll be no sting in it to frighten 'em."

"Now then, girls," cried Kenneth, "bring them along."

Everybody worked with a will, and plenty of missiles were carried up the
broken stone stairs and stored ready, Max making himself so busy, and
growing so excited, that Tavish patted him on the shoulder.

"Hey," he said softly, "'twas a gran' petty she were born so far sooth."

As for Scoodrach, he grew quite friendly, and grinned hugely at the way
in which Max took to the defence.

"It's a rare game, isn't it, Maxy?" cried Kenneth, in the temporary lull
of the attack.

"Game!  I never enjoyed anything so much in my life.  Shall we beat them
off?"

"Shall she peat 'em off!" cried Tavish fiercely.  "She wull peat 'em
off!  D'ye think ta children of ta Mackhai will let ta thieves come past
ta gates?"

"Hurray!" cried Kenneth; and Scoodrach tossed up his bonnet as he
shouted, and then nearly tumbled off the battlements as he tried to
catch the cap, and stood scratching his curly red head as the
woollen-tufted covering fell below.

"Hullo, Scood!" cried Max.

"It ton't matter," cried the gillie; "she can fecht petter withoot a
ponnet."

"Look at old Donald," whispered Max.

The pipes had ceased, and they looked up, to see the old man stooping in
a striking attitude, bareheaded and with his right hand shading his
eyes, one knee resting on the corner crenele of the tower, his left arm
grasping his pipes, while he watched the movements of the bailiff's men,
as they now began to lift the spar on to their shoulders.

"Be quite ready for them when they come," cried Kenneth, after a hearty
laugh at the old family retainer.

"Oh ay," said Scood, "we'll pe retty;" and, with a queer look, he drew a
sgian-dhu from his belt.

"Ah, none of that, Scoody!" cried Kenneth.  "Give me that knife."

"Nay; she wants it for ta togs when ta gate's knockit down."

"No, you don't.  Here, Max, take away that knife."

"Nay, she will na give it up," growled Scoody menacingly; and his face
grew dark as Max seized his wrist and took the knife.

"Ye daurna do that if ta young chief wasna here," he said angrily.

"Yes, I dare," cried Max, turning away, and giving Kenneth the knife,
which he jerked over his shoulder into the courtyard.

At that moment the pipes struck up again, "The Campbells are coming,"
and old Tonal' recommenced his short march to and fro, for the bailiffs
gang, after shouldering the old spar, were in full march up the steep
slope towards the gateway, and as they approached they gave a triumphant
cheer.

"Now, once more," cried the bailiff: "where's Mr Mackhai?"

"What do you mean with your `once more'?  You never asked that before."

"Never you mind about that, my lad; and you'll find yourself in prison
for this day's work.  Where's Mr Mackhai?"

"Gone to Inverness, ugly," cried Kenneth derisively.

"Then you've got to give up this place to me quietly, under an--"

Bang!

"Who threw that potato?"

"I did," cried Max, laughing at the success of his aim, and his shot was
followed by a shower which disorganised the enemy so that they ducked
and dodged, and ended by dropping the old spar, from which all leaped,
so as to save their toes.

"Pick it up, you great fools," roared the bailiff angrily.  "And you
look here," he cried, shaking the paper: "all the proper legal forms
have been gone through, and this is an eviction order at the suit of--
Hang them! how they can throw!" cried the man angrily, as a fresh
missile struck him on the cheek.

"Fecht, laddies, fecht!" yelled Tonal', stopping for a moment to shout,
and then blowing again with all his might.

"You'd better go and pull that old madman down," cried the bailiff.
"Now, once for all," he continued, shaking the paper, "will you
surrender?"

"No!" shouted Kenneth.

"No!" yelled Scoodrach; "she'll fecht till she ties.  Come on!"

"All right," said the bailiff, turning to his men, who had once more got
the spar on their shoulders.  "No, no," he said; "half of you get one
side, half the other, and swing it by your hands.  Keep step, and run
with it against the gate.  The rotten old wood will fly like tinder."

The men obeyed, got the spar, which was about twenty feet long, well
swung between them, and stood ready.

"Now, when I say `go!'" cried the bailiff, "off with you at a good run,
down with the gate, and rush in.  I shall be close behind.  Ready?  Go!"

The men started, but they did not keep step, and before they had reached
the gate, not only were they in confusion, but, amidst the shrieking of
the pipes and the shouts and cheers of the defenders, they were met by
such a storm of missiles, that, after bearing up against it for a few
moments, they again dropped the great spar, and ran back.

This movement was the signal for a roar of derisive cheers, the boys
indulging in quite a war-dance, which was ended by Scoodrach standing on
his head upon one of the creneles, as a sign of his contempt for the
enemy.

It was a dangerous feat, and he would have overbalanced himself, had not
his father caught hold of one of his legs and dragged him back.

"What are ye gaun to dae?" he growled.

"Here, Scood, go and fetch the dining-room--no, you go, Grant--the
table-cover, and that old long spear out of the hall."

The old butler smiled grimly, and began to descend from the broken
rampart to the courtyard.

"What are you going to do, Ken?" asked Max.

"Hoist our colours.  I'll let them see whether we're going to
surrender."

"Want any more hot watter, Maister Ken?" cried the cook.

"Yes, to be sure--coppersful.  Bring it along."

For the first time in Kenneth's recollection he saw the butler run, and
in a few minutes he was back, with a red table-cover and a rusty-headed
old lance.

"That's right!  I'll show 'em!" cried Kenneth, as he tied two corners to
the lance shaft; and, amidst fresh cheering, this was stuck in a corner
and fixed in position with stones, so that the colours flew out
triumphantly.

"Now then, come on!" shouted Kenneth, and a roar of defiance was uttered
by the garrison, as the bailiff led back his men, making them pick up
the battering-ram, and organising them for a fresh attack.

"A set o' cooards!" he exclaimed; "I'm ashamed o' ye."

"Weel, ye rin too," grumbled one of the men.

"Haud yer clack," cried the bailiff.  "Noo then--go!"

There was another rush, and another shower of missiles as effective as
the last; but this time the men charged on, and gave a moderately
effective thump on the great gate; but it was not delivered all together
and with a will, for, although a little desperate, the attacking party
could not help dodging the potatoes which came thudding against them,
and they were confused by the shouts, yells, and the shrieking of the
pipes.

But they delivered another stroke, and another, as Tonald yelled
again,--

"Fecht, lads, fecht!" and then blew and stamped up and down in a
wonderful state of excitement.

Hot water was poured down, potatoes, pails, pots of earthenware flew,
and came down with a crash like exploding shells, and the excitement had
nearly reached its height, when, in the midst of the storm of missiles
thrown, the gate began to yield beneath the blows, and Kenneth was about
to shout to his followers to run down and fight inside the gate, whose
defenders now were the dogs alone, who barked and growled savagely at
every blow.

"Don't be beaten, lads; never mind their throwing.  Keep it up," cried
the bailiff.  "Never mind that.  Go on.  Another, and another, and down
she comes."

_Bopp_!

But it was not the gate.  There was a loud explosion--quite a heavy,
echoing report, but the way was not open to the bailiff's men, and the
occupants of Dunroe were not to be evicted that day.

For the attacking party suddenly ceased their efforts, to stand gazing
in awe at something which had happened, and then they turned and fled.

Just when the wild confusion was at its height, and attackers and
defenders were wild with excitement, the battering-ram threatening, the
gates cracking, missiles flying, and both parties shouting with all
their might, Donald Dhu was blowing his best, stamping up and down,
gazing wildly at the participators in the fray, when in his excitement
he stepped upon a loose stone near the edge of the tower, where the
crenelation was broken away, slipped, and went headlong down, to fall in
a sitting position, and cause the loud report that startled all.

"Oh, poor old Donald! he's killed!" cried Kenneth, with a cry of
anguish, as all the fun of the defence passed away, and he saw himself
face to face with a tragedy, whose occurrence had paralysed every one
present; the sight of the falling man and the report being followed by a
dead silence, which affected even the dogs.

But, to the astonishment of all, the old man suddenly sprang up, clapped
his hand to his side, and whirled out his claymore from its sheath.

"Fecht, laddies, fecht!" he yelled, as he waved the flashing blade above
his head.  "Doon wi' t' enemies o' ta Mackhai!"

Uttering these last words as if they were a war-cry, he dashed at the
bailiff, who stared wildly at the weird-looking old Highlander for a
moment, and then, with his men, he turned and fled, the whole party
retreating as hard as they could go.

"Hurray!" shouted Kenneth, and a burst of cheers followed, all shouting
frantically as they saw old Tonal' in full pursuit.

Full pursuit?

He only went about half a dozen yards; then he limped, then he stopped
short, and then he turned slowly, making his sword a walking-stick, as
the gates were thrown open, and the dogs dashed out, barking savagely,
and took up the pursuit, adding wings to the flight of the bailiffs men.
These ran the harder as they saw the light cavalry let loose, in the
shape of Bruce, followed at a distance by the heavies, as represented by
Dirk, who could not go so fast, and with the infantry in support in the
ragged person of Sneeshing, who hindered his advance by keeping on
firing shots.

The rest of the garrison poured forth, led by Kenneth, closely followed
by Max and Scood, the former running up to old Donald, who came limping
on.

"Are you much hurt, old man?" cried Kenneth, taking one arm.

"Ta togs!  I'd ha' slit the weam o' ivery ane!" panted the piper.

"But are you much hurt?  Anything broken?"

"Proken, dear laddie, son o' my sin auld Chief--proken all to pits.
Didna ye hear ta clash?"

"Let's carry him in," cried Max.

"Na, na, my bonnie Southron chiel'," said the old man, smiling at Max.
"Na, na, she can walk; put, Maister Crant, she could tak' chust a tram
o' Talisker or Clen Nevis, for she's a pit shakken wi' coming town sae
quick."

The lads helped the old man toward the gateway while Grant ran off
eagerly enough for the whisky.

"Scoody, fetch a chair," cried Max.

"Lat her carry the auld man in," said Tavish.

"Na, na, let her pe.  I want to see 'em--I want to see 'em," cried the
old man, waving them off impatiently; and he limped to where his
instrument, with the green baize bag and pennoned ivory-tipped pipes,
lay on the ground.

"Oh tear! wae's me!" he moaned, as he stooped down and picked up the
instrument.  "Put ta enemies o' ta Mackhai listened to ta pibroch, and
she turned and fled; put," he added, looking round piteously, "it was a
pran new pahg, it was a pran new pahg."

"What!" cried Kenneth and Max, as a light struck in upon them, and the
circle of sympathisers pressed round; "is the bag burst?"

"Purst!" groaned Tonal' mournfully; "ant I tried so hart to haud her up,
but she couldna dae it, and come doon setting on ta pran new skin.
Tidn't she hear her co pang?"



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

"SUIT OF ANDREW BLANDE."

A shriek of hearty laughter rose as poor Tonal's naive question was
heard, and the old man tucked his pipes under his arm, and then took
hold of the sheath and raised his claymore to return it to its peaceful
state; but, as he raised the glistening basket-hilt to the full length
of his stretch, it fell from his grasp with a clang upon the stones; the
old man's eyes closed, and he would have fallen, had not Max thrown his
arm about his waist.

"Oh, Donald, old man!" cried Kenneth piteously; "I wouldn't have laughed
if I had known."

"Whisht, laddie!" said Tavish.  "Lat me tak' him;" and, raising the old
man in his arms, he bore him through the gates and into the servants'
quarters.  Here he was laid upon a bed, and the whisky Grant had brought
applied to his lips.

"Oh, if we only had Mr Curzon here!" whispered Max.

"Nay, laddie, we dinna want him," said Tavish.  "There's naething proken
but ta pipes--nae banes.  He's a bit shakkit i' ta pack.  It's a coot
way doon."

Just then the old man revived and looked round wonderingly, and his eyes
flashed directly, as there was a loud barking again from the dogs.

"Dinna ye hear?" he cried; "dinna ye hear?  Ta enemy of ta Mackhai!"

"Tavish!  Scoody!" cried Kenneth excitedly.  "Come on!"

"Na," said Scoodrach, grinning; "it's naething but ta togs."

"But the gates! the gates!"

"She shut 'em up chust noo, and it's ta togs that canna get in."

A watch was kept as soon as the old man had been ministered to, and
Tavish seemed to be right: Donald had been terribly shaken, but no bones
were broken.  He displayed a good deal of solicitude at one minute,
though, and looked round wildly.

"What is it, Tonal'?" said Kenneth, taking his hand.

"Gude laddie," he replied,--"gude laddie; but ta pipes--ta pipes!"

"You shall have a new set," cried Kenneth.

"Yes; I'll buy him a set," cried Max.

"Na, na.  T'auld pipe is ta best.  Lat 'em lay 'em here."

"Here?" said Kenneth inquiringly.

"Yes, laddie, here."

The old man's whim was gratified, and he dropped off to sleep with his
arm round his instrument, cuddling it up to him on the pillow as if it
had been a darling child.

Donald was left to sleep; and, under Kenneth's orders, all hands were
set to work to clear away the traces of the fight, while Scoodrach was
sent out to scout and bring back tidings of the whereabouts of the
enemy.

The young gillie had recovered his sgian-dhu from where it had been
thrown by Kenneth, and he ran off with alacrity, delighted with his
task; while baskets and maunds were brought, and amidst plenty of hearty
laughter the potatoes were gathered up, the women entering into the task
heart and soul.

But, like Humpty Dumpty, the various earthenware pots that had fallen
from the wall, even with the aid of all the king's horses and men, could
not have been put together again, so Long Shon gathered the sherds into
a basket, throwing one load into the sea, and coming back for another.

"I say, look here, Tavvy," cried Kenneth very innocently, after hurling
a potato with magnificent aim at Max's back, and completely ignoring his
inquiring gaze as the visitor turned round.

"Tid she call me?"

"Yes; we must have this old spar out of the way, for they may come back
and have better luck next time."

"Hey, but they wadna daur come back," cried Tavish.

"I don't know, Tavvy.  Anyhow, we'll have the spar where they can't get
it.  Where shall we put it?"

"She'd better pit it inside ta castle," said Tavish.

"Well, we'll all help you carry it.  You'll help, Max?"

"Oh yes, I'll help," replied Max, offering the potato to Kenneth.  "Do
you want to throw this at any one else?"

"Eh?  No.  Yes, I do.  I'll keep it for the bailiffs.  I say, though,
this is a rum game.  Those people can't have any right to come like
that."

"I don't know for certain," said Max; "but I'm afraid they have--if--"

He stopped short, for Kenneth flushed up.

"Oh, come, Maxy, that's too bad.  Don't insult my father by saying
things in that underhanded way.  My father doesn't owe money, I'm sure."

Max felt uncomfortable, for he had an undefined feeling that there was
something very wrong, but it was all misty and confused.

"I didn't want to hurt your feelings, Ken," he said.

"Then you shouldn't.  There, never mind.  Hi, Long Shon, come and help
carry this old spar."

"She ton't want any one to help her carry ta bit o' wud," said Tavish
contemptuously.  "She could pitch it like ta caber."

He raised himself to his full height, as he strode towards the gateway
where the spar lay.  Then, stooping down, he lifted one end and rested
it upon his shoulder, after which he kept on hitching it up and getting
farther under till he had reached the middle, when he grasped it with
both hands firmly, took a step back, and the far end rose slowly from
the ground, the spar swaying in equilibrium slowly up and down as the
great fellow stood firm till it was at rest, and perfectly horizontal,
when he strode slowly and steadily toward the gate and went through into
the yard.

"There, Maxy, talk about a Samson!" cried Kenneth; "what do you think of
that?"

"I'd give something to be as strong," said Max, as he ran into the
courtyard, followed by Kenneth, the two boys applauding loudly as Tavish
gave himself a jerk, leaped aside, and the spar fell with a clang which
echoed from the ruined walls.

"She's chust a wee pit heavy, Maister Ken," said Tavish, passing his arm
across his brow, "and she wadna like to carry ta pit o' wood to
Falkirk."

"Ta Chief--ta Chief!" shouted Scoodrach, coming running in through the
gate.

"What! my father?" cried Kenneth, flushing up.  "I say, Maxy, what will
he say?  Where is he, Scoody?"

"Chust here on ta pony," whispered the lad, with his eyes wide; and he
looked round for a way to escape, as if he had a pricking of conscience
as to what had been going on.

"Take the pony and rub him down.  I've ridden hard.  Where's Mr
Kenneth?" came from outside.

The voice sounded very harsh and stern, so much so that Kenneth shrank
from meeting him, but it was only for a moment.

"I'm here, father," he cried, and he went out, followed closely by
Max,--who felt that he had no business to go, but that if he stayed
back, it would be like leaving his friend in the lurch.

"Oh, there you are--both of you," said The Mackhai sternly; and Max
noted that he was deadly pale, while the veins in his temples were
swollen, and looked like a network right round to the front of his brow.

"Yes, father, here we are--both of us," said Kenneth, unconsciously
repeating his father's form of expression.

"Then perhaps, sir, you will explain to me what is the meaning of that
piece of tomfoolery?"

The Mackhai was evidently greatly agitated, and fighting down his anger,
as he spoke in a cold, cutting tone, and pointed upward to the ruined
battlements.

Kenneth and Max had both forgotten it till they glanced up, and saw the
dining-room table-cover floating from the spear staff in the wind.

"That, father?" cried Kenneth, forcing a laugh, while Max felt a strange
desire to beat a retreat; "that's the banner of the Mackhais."

"No fooling, sir, at a time like this," cried The Mackhai, so fiercely
that his son turned pale.  "And now please explain what's all this I
have just learned on the way, about a party of men coming here, and
there being a desperate fight.  Is this true?"

"Well, there has been a fight, father.  I don't know about desperate."

"Not desperate, sir! when I found two men on the road, one bruised and
battered about so that he can't see out of his eyes, and his face all
blood-smeared, while the other is lamed, and can hardly walk."

"Well, sir," said Kenneth boldly, "a pack of scoundrels came here with a
cock-and-bull story about taking possession of Dunroe; and as you were
out, and I knew it must be some trick, I called our people together,
shut the gates, set them at defiance, and--there was a fight, and we
beat 'em off."

A flush of pride came across The Mackhai's face, and a bright look fell
upon his son, but they passed away directly, and he continued, with
lowering brow.

"And you have done this, sir?" he said sternly; "and you," he added,
turning sharply upon Max,--"you knew better than this stupid country
boor of a boy.  Why didn't you stop him?"

"I did not think of doing so, sir," said Max, hesitating; and then,
speaking out firmly, "I helped him, and did my best to beat the people
off.  I'm afraid I was worse than he."

"What?" cried The Mackhai; "you did?"

"Yes, sir, I did."

The Mackhai burst into a wild, discordant laugh.

"You did?" he repeated mockingly.  "You helped to beat off these
scoundrels of the law?"

"Yes, sir."

Kenneth flushed, for it seemed to him that his father was casting a
doubt on his friend's pluck.

"Yes, father, that he did; and no fellow could have fought better."

"This is most delicious!" cried The Mackhai mockingly.  "You, Maximilian
Blande, fought with all your might to defend my home from these people?"

"I thought the property of the gentleman who had been very kind to me
was in danger, sir, and I helped his son with all my might," said Max
warmly.  "I'm sorry if I've done wrong.  Don't be angry with Kenneth,
sir.  I'm sure he meant to do what was right."

"Right!" cried the Mackhai.  "You young idiots, you don't know what
you've done,--you do not, Kenneth.  As for you, you young viper, are you
as cunning as you are high, or is this childishness and--"

"Mackhai!  Mackhai!" yelled Scoodrach, coming tearing into the courtyard
from the house.  "Maister Maister Ken, Maister Max, ta deevils have been
and cot ta poat, and they've landed on ta rocks, and got into ta house."

"What!" cried Kenneth excitedly.  "Come on, father.  Oh, why didn't I
put a sentry there?"

Taken in the rear, the boy felt, and, forgetful of his father's words,
he was about to rush away to the defence, when, paler than ever, his
father clapped his hand upon his shoulder.

"Stop!" he cried; and he drew himself up to his full height, as there
were the sounds of feet from within, and the bailiff came through the
inner archway of the castle, to stand among the ruins of old Dunroe, to
proclaim the ruin of the new.

"Mr Mackhai," he said sharply, as he presented a slip of paper, "in the
Queen's name I take possession here--suit of Mr Andrew Blande,
Lincoln's Inn, London."

"What!" cried Max, whose jaw dropped as he grasped the state of affairs.
"It is a lie! my father would not do such a thing."

"Your cursed father, sir, would do anything that is mean and base--even
to sending you down here to be a spy upon us, till he could tie the last
knot in the miserable net he has thrown around me."

"Oh, Max!" cried Kenneth, as his face flushed, and then turned pale.

"Be a man, my boy," said his father sternly.  "Recollect that you are a
Mackhai.  Let this legal robber take all; let him and his son enjoy
their prize.  Ken, my boy, my folly has made a beggar of you.  I have
lost all now, but one thing.  I am still a gentleman of a good old race.
He cannot rob me of that.  Come."

He walked proudly through the archway into the house with his son, and
the rest followed, leaving Max Blande standing alone in the old
courtyard, staring wildly before him, till he started as if stung.  For
all at once a jackdaw on the inner part of one of the towers uttered
what sounded to him a mocking, jeering--

_Tah_!



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

MAX ASKS THE WAY TO GLASGOW.

"And does everything go to him, father?" said Kenneth that same evening,
as he sat with his father in the study, the table covered with papers,
and the wind from off the sea seeming to sigh mournfully around the
place.

"Everything, my boy.  Mortgage upon mortgage, interest and principal,
built up and increasing year by year, till it has come to this.  There,
you do not understand these things.  It is the worst."

"Yes, father.  Well, we must meet it, as you say, like men.  But it will
be very hard to leave the old place.  Poor old Scoody, and Tavish,
and--"

"Don't talk about it, my boy, or you'll drive me mad.  There, the horror
has come, and it's over.  We shall not be able to leave here yet for a
month, perhaps.  The man Blande has sent me a letter.  I am not to hurry
away; now he has asserted his rights, he says he wishes to be courteous
to the man who has behaved so well to his son.  Hah! where is Max?"

"In his room, I suppose, father."

"Fetch him down, Ken," said The Mackhai cheerfully, "and let me
apologise to the poor boy.  I insulted him grossly, for he couldn't have
known why he was sent down here."

"Say that again, father!" cried Kenneth excitedly.

"There is no need, my boy.  I am sure he must have been in profound
ignorance of everything.  It was a bitter blow when he was sent down
uninvited; but I think we have behaved well to him till now."

"You don't know how glad you have made me feel, father!" cried Kenneth,
flushing.  "I couldn't have borne for poor old Max to have turned out a
miserable spy."

"You like this boy, then?"

"Like him, father!  Why, he is the best of fellows!  When he came down
here first, I laughed at him, and thought him the most silly molly of a
chap I ever met.  But he's so good-hearted and patient, and takes
everything so well, and all the time so genuinely plucky as soon as he
makes up his mind to face anything, that you can't help liking him."

"Yes; I like him too," said The Mackhai; "and, as I said, I grossly
insulted the poor boy in my rage.  Fetch him down, Ken, and I'll ask him
to forgive me--like a gentleman."

"And he will, father--I know he will!" cried Kenneth eagerly.

"Why, Ken, my boy," said his father sadly, "you are not jealous of the
new prince--the heir to Dunroe?"

"No, father," said Ken, shaking his head sadly.  "I think he likes me
too.  Some day, perhaps, he may ask me to come down here and stay with
him, and see the old place once more."

"No," said The Mackhai sternly.  "You can never enter this place again
except as the master, my boy.  Fetch Mr Max Blande down."

Kenneth gazed for a moment sadly at his father, and then slowly left the
room, when the stern look left the unfortunate man's face, and he
dropped his head upon his hands.

"My poor boy!" he groaned.  "My poor boy!  Ruined! and by me!"

It was as if a responsive moan echoed round the house as a gust of wind
came off the sea, and, starting and looking wildly round, The Mackhai
rose and gazed out upon the dark sea and the dimly-seen black clouds
scudding across the gloomy sky.

"It will be a bad night," he said sadly.  "Ah, well, I must bear it like
a man!  Let's see if I can eat some dinner."

He crossed to the bell and rang.

The old butler answered the summons at once.

"Let us have the dinner at once, Grant."

"Yes, sir.  Everything is quite ready, sir," said the old butler, with
his eyes full of sympathy for his master in his time of trouble.

"Are those--those people in the kitchen, Grant?"

"Yes, sir."

"Treat them respectfully and well, Grant.  I wish it to be so."

"Yes, sir."

The butler was retiring, when Kenneth's step was heard coming hastily
along, and, as he burst into the room,--

"Father," he cried, "he's gone!"

"Gone?"

"Yes.  Max has gone."

"Gone?  Impossible!  Where could he have gone?"

"Scoodrach saw him go, hours ago, right up the track; and he watched him
till he saw him disappear."

"What! across the mountain--alone?"

"Yes, father," cried Kenneth excitedly.

"But walking--to be overtaken by a night like this--the precipices--the
bogs!  Good heavens, Kenneth! he could not have been so mad!"

"He asked Scood if Glasgow did not lie out there," said Kenneth
hoarsely; "and he told him, yes."

"He told him that?  The young scoundrel!  Why?"

The Mackhai ran to the bell, tore at it, and Grant came.

"Is Scoodrach anywhere here?"

"Yes, sir; in the kitchen."

"Send him here."

There was utter silence in the room for a few minutes, and then the
young gillie was ushered in.

"Stop, Grant, you need not go," cried The Mackhai.  "Now, sir," he said
to Scoodrach, "did you tell Mr Max Blande that over the mountains was
the way to Glasgow?"

"She said was tat ta wa' to Glasgie, and she said, `Oh ay.'"

"And you let that poor boy go out over the mountain to lose himself
among the rocks and moss, knowing that he could not find his way?"

"Oh ay!" said Scoodrach coolly.

"And that he might lose his life?"

"Oh ay."

"You young villain! how dared you do this?  You've murdered him,
perhaps."

"Oh ay; she hopes she has."

"What!" roared The Mackhai.  "You did it on purpose, then?"

"Ay," cried Scoodrach, flashing up, and, dashing the bonnet he held
defiantly on the carpet, he stamped upon it.  "And she'd kill any mon
who tried to rob ta bonnie young Chief Kenneth of her rights!"



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

LOST IN THE MOUNTAINS.

It was in a dull, half-stunned way that Max walked straight out through
the castle gate, and away down the rocky slope toward the shores of the
little bay.

"Is it all true?" he asked himself.  "Is it all true?"  And then
drearily he kept on muttering, "I can't stay here now--I can't stay here
now."

He had walked on for about a mile, when he turned to look back for a
farewell glance at the castle, when he found Scoodrach close at his
heels, glaring at him in a peculiar way, which slightly startled Max,
but he returned the gaze boldly, and then, with a confused idea of
walking on till he could reach some inn, when there was nothing of the
kind for forty or fifty miles, he asked the young gillie if that was the
way for Glasgow.

Scoodrach's face lit up with satisfaction as he said it was; and, when
Max went right on, the Highland lad stopped back watching him for a
time, and then, laughing silently to himself, returned to stand in the
shadow and glare at the bailiff and his men; while Max trudged on, with
the sense of being mentally stunned increasing, but not so rapidly as
the growing feeling of misery and shame within his breast.

Rocky path, moist sheep-track, steep climb, sharp descent into boggy
hollow; then up over a hill, with a glance at the sunny sea; and then on
and on, in and out among the everlasting hills, which lapped fold upon
fold, all grey crag and heather, and one valley so like another, and the
ins and outs and turns so many, that, but for the light in the west, it
would have been hard to tell the direction in which he tramped on and
on, as near as he could divine straight away for Glasgow and the south.

"I must get home," he muttered dreamily, as he tramped on.  "Oh, the
shame of it!" he burst out.  "Father! father! how could you do such a
thing as this?"

There was a wild cry close at hand, and a curlew rose, and then a flock
of lapwings, to flit round and round, uttering their peevish calls; but
Max saw nothing but the scene at the castle, heard nothing but The
Mackhai's bitter words, and he tramped onward and onward into the
wilderness of mountain and moss, onward into the night.

There are people who would laugh at the idea of an active lad being lost
in the mountains.  To them it seems, as they travel comfortably along by
rail or coach, impossible that any one could go perilously astray among
"those little hills."

Let them try it, and discover their ignorance, as they learn the
immensity of the wild spaces in Scotland and Wales, and how valley
succeeds valley, hill comes down to hill, with so great a resemblance
one to the other, that in a short time the brain is overwhelmed by a
mist of confusion, and that greatest of horrors,--one not known,
fortunately, to many,--the horror of feeling lost, robs the sufferer of
power to act calmly and consistently, and he goes farther and farther
astray, and often into perils which may end in death.

Max Blande wandered on, looking inward nearly all the time, and backward
at the scenes of the past day, so that it was not long before he had
diverged from the beaten track and was trudging on over the short grass
and among the heather.  Then great corners of crags and loose stones
rose in his way, forcing him to turn to right or left to get by.  Then
he would come close up to some precipitous, unclimbable face of the
hill, and strike away again, to find his course perhaps stopped by a
patch of pale green moss dotted with cotton rushes, among which his feet
sank, and the water splashed with suggestions of his sinking completely
in if he persevered.

But he kept on, now in one direction, now in another, striving to keep
straight, with the one idea in his mind to get right away from Dunroe,
and certainly increasing the distance, but in a weary, devious way, till
he seemed to wake up all at once to the fact that it was growing dark,
and that a thick mist was gradually creeping round him, and he was
growing wet, as well as so faint and weary that he could hardly plod
along.

Max stopped short by a block of stone, against which he struck, and only
saved himself from falling by stretching out his hands.

The stone suggested resting for a few minutes, and he sat down and
listened, but the silence was awful.  No cry of bird or bleat of sheep
fell upon his ear, and the mist and darkness had in a few minutes so
shut him in that he could distinguish nothing half a dozen yards away.

The sensation of restfulness was, however, pleasant; and he sat there
for some time, trying to think of his plans, but in a confused way, for
the incidents that had taken place at Dunroe would intrude as soon as he
began to make plans.

"How stupid I am!" he cried, suddenly starting up with a shiver of cold,
for the damp mist seemed to chill him, and for the first time he awoke
to the fact that his feet and legs were saturated.  "I must get on to
some hotel, and to-morrow make for the nearest station, and go home."

Just then, for a moment, it occurred to him that he had left everything
at Dunroe; but his thoughts went off in another direction, and then in
another and another, finally resting upon the idea of the possibility of
getting to the nearest station.

But where was the nearest station?  Stirling.  The line to Oban had not
been made in those days; and now Max began to grow confused, as he
recalled the fact that there was only one railway line running through
the Western Highlands, and whether that were to the north, south, east,
or west, he could not tell.

Neither at that hour could he tell which way these quarters lay.  All he
knew was that he was in a thick mist somewhere in the mountains, high up
or low down in one of the hollows, and that if he stirred from where he
stood, he must literally feel his way.

For a moment the idea came upon him that he had better stop till
daylight, but just then a peculiar muffled cry smote his ears, and a
thrill of terror ran through him as he felt that it would be impossible
to sit there all through the long hours of the night in the cold and
darkness.  So he started at once, the cry he had heard influencing his
direction, for he struck off the opposite way.

He made very slow progress, but at the end of a few minutes he knew that
he was descending a rapid slope, and he went stumbling on through tall
heather which was laden with moisture.  Every now and then, too, he
struck against some stone, but he persevered, for he fancied that the
mist was rather less thick as he descended.

Then he tripped, and went headlong into the drenched heather, and
struggled up with the feeling of confusion increasing as he stood trying
to pierce the gloom.

Mist and darkness everywhere, and he once more went on downward, but
diagonally, as it had grown now almost too steep to go straight down the
slope; and so on for the next half-hour, when, as he leaned forward and
took a step, he went down suddenly, and before he could save himself he
was falling through space, his imagination suggesting an immense depth,
but in two or three moments he touched bottom, and went rolling and
scrambling among loose shingly stones for quite a hundred feet before he
finally stopped.

He got up slowly and painfully, half stunned and sore, but he was not
much hurt, for only the first few feet of his fall had been
perpendicular; and once more he stood thinking in the darkness, and
fighting with the fear and confusion which like mental gloom and mist
oppressed his brain.

Only one idea dominated all others, and that one was that he must not
stand still.

Starting once more, it was with ground still rapidly descending, and now
he went very slowly and cautiously, feeling his way step by step among
the loose scree, lest he should come upon another perpendicular descent,
though even here the place was so steep that the stones he dislodged
slid rattling down over one another for some distance before all was
again still.

He must have gone on like this for nearly an hour before he felt that he
was upon more level ground, but it was terribly broken up and encumbered
with great masses of stone, among which he had painfully to thread his
way.

Once again he found himself walking into a patch of moss, and he felt
the soft growth giving way, till he was knee-deep, and it was only by a
sudden scramble backwards that he was able to get free.

Then he went on and on again amidst the profound darkness, feeling his
way among stones and scrubby growth more and more wearily each minute,
till he was brought sharp up by a curious, croaking cry.

The lately learned knowledge, however, came that this must be a
moor-hen; but the fact of such a bird being near did not suggest that he
must be close to water, and in consequence he had not gone much farther
before he found himself splashing along the edge of some mountain loch
or pool, whose bottom where he stood seemed to be smooth pebbles.

He stooped down in a dull, despairing way, plunged his hand beneath the
surface, and drew out one of the biggest stones he could find, to hurl
straight before him, and, as he listened, it fell into water which gave
forth a dull, echoing splash, suggestive of depth and overhanging rocks.

He tried again and again, after backing cautiously, as he thought, out
of the deep direction, but only to find the water grow deeper, till, to
his horror, he found it nearly to his middle.  The despairing plunge,
however, that he took, led him into shallows once more; but every stone
he threw fell into deep water, till he jerked one to his left, and this
fell on stones.

Taking that direction, he pursued his level way over a shingly beach,
with the impression upon him that he must be journeying along a deep
glen with high rocks on either side, and one of the little lochs which
he had often seen in these narrow straths, filling up the principal part
of the hollow.

Once or twice he found his feet splashing in water, but by bearing to
the left he found himself again on the dry pebbles, and in this way,
save for a few heavy masses in his path, he skirted what he rightly
concluded was a mountain loch, though whereabouts he could not tell.

Gaining a little courage as he realised all this, he ventured once upon
a shout, in the hope that it might be heard, but he did not repeat it,
for he stopped awe-stricken as his cry was repeated away to his left,
then on his right, and again and again, to go murmuring off as if a host
of the spirits of the air were mocking his peril.

But a little thought taught him that his surmise was right, and that he
was slowly making his way along a narrow glen, whose towering walls had
the property of reflecting back any sound; and, though he dared not
raise his voice again, he picked up the first heavy stone against which
he kicked, and hurled it from him with all his might.

A terribly dull, hollow, sullen plunge was the result, telling of the
great depth of the water, and this sound was taken up, to go echoing and
whispering away into the distance till it died out, and then seemed to
begin again in a low, dull roar, which puzzled him as he listened.

Just then it seemed to him that a warm breath of air came upon his
cheek, and this grew stronger, and the dull roar more plain.  Then it
did not seem so dark, and he realised that a breeze was coming softly up
the glen, meeting him and wafting the wet mist away.

There was no doubt of this, and, though it was intensely dark where he
stood, it was a transparent darkness, through which he could see the
starry sky, forming as it were an arch of golden points starting on
either side from great walls of rock a thousand feet above the level of
the loch.  This loch, in spite of the darkness, he could plainly see
now, reflecting from its level surface, which stretched away into the
darkness, the bright points of the light above.

Max stood thinking, and listened to the dull roar.  He had been long
enough in the Highlands now to know that this was not the continuation
of the echoes he had raised, but the murmur of falling water, either of
some mountain torrent pouring into the lake, or by a reverse process the
lake emptying its superabundant water into the rocky bed of a stream,
which would go bubbling and foaming down to the sea.

The wafting away of the mist seemed to relieve him of a good deal of the
confusion, and, weary though he was, he found himself able to
distinguish his way, and creep along the pebbly margin of the black
loch, which lay so still and solemn beneath the starry sky.

All at once, after about an hour's laborious tramp down the weird glen,
with its wild crags, black as ink, towering up to right and left, he
suddenly caught sight of a gleam of light, and it struck him that he had
come near to the mouth of the glen, and that he could see a star low
down on the horizon.

The light was to his left, and the place was so horribly oppressive,
with the deep black lake on his right and the roar of water rapidly
growing louder, that he gladly struck off, as he felt, to where the
gorge bore round, or, as he soon made out, divided.

This led him away from the black lake, and he soon found that he was
scrambling along the bed of a little stream, which came, as it were,
straight from the low down star.

Then, as he walked on what grew to be a more and more painful track, it
struck him that it was strange that he could only see one star in that
opening.

A few minutes later, he fancied he could make out towering crags above
it, and that all was black darkness where he ought to be seeing more
light; and then he dropped suddenly upon his knees in the joy of his
heart, for there could be no mistake about the matter: it was not a star
which he could see, but a light, and, rising once more, he forgot
weariness, soreness, and pain, and began to tramp slowly on toward the
light.



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

THE MYSTERIOUS LIGHT.

There were moments when Max began to feel doubtful; others when he
fancied it might be some deceptive marsh light; and then a great despair
came upon him, for, just as he had come to the hopeful conclusion that
there really was a cottage in the glen, where he could find rest, and
warmth, and food, the light suddenly disappeared, and he was in a
darkness which seemed to be, from the overshadowing mountains, even
deeper than the darkness of the mist.

That was but the fancy of the moment, for the stars gave him light
enough to slowly continue his way, but he stopped and hesitated as to
whether he should go on or go back.

The way along the edge of the loch was easy, and seemed to lead toward
the entrance of the glen.  This side branch grew more difficult at every
step, and, as the light had disappeared, he felt it would be better to
go back, and he began to descend the rough way among the stones in the
bed of the stream, when, turning one of these, he happened to look back,
and there was the light burning clearly once more.

That was no marsh light, it was too clear and glowing, and, feeling
convinced now that it had only been hidden by some turn of the ravine or
interposing stone, he once more began to ascend the streamlet, till the
light, which he watched intently, suddenly again disappeared.

He stopped short and stepped back a couple of paces, when the light
reappeared; and, seeing that he was right, he pressed on, with the
result that at the end of a few minutes there was the light again.

Twice over it disappeared as he stumbled onward, but there it was again,
and growing so much plainer as he drew nearer, that it gradually took
the form of fire shining through an open door.

Convinced that it was either a little country inn or the home of some
shepherd, Max's hopes rose, and he stumbled on, hoping every minute to
come upon a path which should lead up to the door.

But he hoped in vain, though he had one satisfaction, that of seeing the
shape of a doorway quite plainly, and the flickering of a fire, which
some one must be in the act of stirring.

Directly after he saw the doorway darkened, as if somebody had passed
out, and his lips parted to call for guidance to the place, when he
heard a movement behind him, and, turning sharply, there was another
sound, as if a stone had fallen.

This made him turn round again toward the light, when, quick as thought,
something thick was thrown over his head and drawn close, a pair of
sinewy arms dashed his to his sides; he was drawn backward; some one
seized his legs, and, in spite of his straggles, he was lifted from the
ground, and two men seemed to be carrying him over a rugged way, now up,
now down.

He shouted and begged as well as his half-suffocated state would allow,
for the covering to be taken from his head, but the only response he
obtained was an angry shake and a tighter clasp of the arms about his
legs.

All at once he could see red light glowing through the great woollen
cloth which covered him, and he felt that he was thrown on the ground,
and that some one was binding his legs together.  Directly after, his
arms were bound behind his back, he was placed in a sitting posture, and
the cloth was snatched from his head.

The glowing light of a fire shone right into his eyes, dazzling them, so
that for some few moments he could make out nothing but the fact that he
was in a stone-built hut, before a fierce fire, and that two
fierce-looking bearded men were glaring at him.

Before he could collect himself to speak, some one shouted from outside,
and one of his captors replied, but the Gaelic words were quite
unintelligible to the prisoner, as was also the conversation which
ensued between the two men before him, though it was apparent that one
was urging the other to do something from which he shrank.

"Hwhat will she want?" said the latter at last, in a harsh voice.

"I've lost my way in the mountains," said Max.  "I'm tired and cold and
hungry.  Please undo this rope; it hurts."

The man who had not spoken said something now to Max's questioner, and
it seemed that the words which had passed were translated, with the
result that he burst into a torrent of harsh-sounding speech, apparently
full of dissent.

This seemed to be the case, for the one who tried to speak English
exclaimed sharply,--

"She shall tell her a lee."

"I--I don't understand you," said Max.

"She came along wi' ta exciseman."

"No," said Max.  "I came quite alone."

"Sassenach" was the only word which Max could make out in the dialogue
which followed, and this was at its height when a third fierce-looking
man came in, and the three laid their heads together, glancing toward
the door uneasily, and then at what seemed to be a great copper boiling
over the fire.

As they stood together, with the ruddy glow playing upon their fierce
countenances, it seemed to Max that he must have fallen into the hands
of Scottish freebooters, and the next thing he felt was that he should
be robbed and murdered, or the operations be performed in reverse
fashion.

The men's appearance was wild enough to have excited dread in one of
stouter nerves than Max Blande, who, faint and exhausted, lay there in
so helpless a plight that he was not in a condition to do more than
anxiously watch his captors, as they talked loudly in Gaelic and
gesticulated angrily.

To Max it seemed as if they were debating how he should be done to
death; and, in spite of the horror of the thought, he was so stunned, as
it were, his feelings were so deadened, that he did not feel the acute
dread that might have been expected.  There was almost as much curiosity
in his feelings as fear, and he began at last to wonder why they did not
take his watch and chain, purse and pocket-book, both of which latter
were fairly well filled--his father having been generous to him when he
started upon his journey, and there having been absolutely no means of
spending money at Dunroe.

The debate grew more and more angry, the men evidently quarrelling
fiercely, but not a word could Max make out.  Their actions, however,
seemed plain enough, as they all turned their eyes fiercely upon him,
and the effect was peculiar, for the ruddy firelight was reflected from
them, so that they seemed to glow as they suddenly made a dart at him,
two of the men dragging him unresisting to his feet, while the third,
before he could grasp his intention, flung the dingy old plaid which had
muffled him before, over his head, twisting it tightly about his throat.

Max uttered a hoarse cry, but it was smothered directly, and he gave
himself up for lost, as he was seized once more and hurried out into the
darkness.  This much he knew by the absence of the light dimly shining
through the coarse woollen fabric which covered his head.

He was carried in this way for quite a quarter of an hour.  Sometimes
they were going upwards and sometimes downwards; while he could gather
that the way chosen was terribly rough, from the manner in which he was
jerked about.

This went on till a dull sound came in a muffled way through the plaid,
and he gathered from this that they were approaching the falls he had
heard before, or else some others.

The sound of roaring water grew louder and louder, and now he knew that
they were climbing more slowly evidently upward, as if the ascent were
exceedingly steep.  Then the sound of the water falling--a deep bass,
quivering roar--grew louder and louder; while, from being hot now almost
to suffocation, the perspiration gathered on his brow grew cold, and,
trembling with horror, he felt that the end was near, and that the
wretches who held him were about to throw him off into the fall whose
waters thundered in his ear.

He uttered a few wild cries for mercy, but they seemed to be unheard,
and, just when his agony was strained to the highest pitch, the roar
suddenly grew fainter, and the bearers paused on comparatively level
ground.

All at once one of the men unfastened the cords which confined him,
after which the other grasped his wrist, and he was forced to walk
onward at a rapid rate.

For some minutes he could hardly stumble along, his feet feeling numbed
and tingling sharply, but by degrees the normal sensation returned, and
he could feel that he was walking through short heather, and at times
over soft, springy grass.

At last he was so exhausted that he stumbled again and again, recovering
himself by an effort, and keeping on for another quarter of an hour,
when his legs gave way beneath him, and he sank upon his knees.

A low, guttural ejaculation from his conductor now reached his ears, and
he felt that the plaid was twisted quickly from his neck, the cool night
air fell upon his cheek, and he could see the stars indistinctly, as if
through a mist, as they suddenly grew dark, and then there was nothing.



CHAPTER THIRTY.

DIRK MAKES HIMSELF USEFUL.

The stars were twinkling brightly when Max Blande looked at them again,
and for some time there was nothing else but stars.

But they were above him, and, as he looked up at them, they looked down
at him.

He felt that it was very cold, but it did not seem to matter, so long as
he could lie still there in bed with the window wide open, looking at
the stars; but by degrees he became conscious that his legs ached and
his arms felt sore, and the idea struck him that he should be much more
comfortable if he got up and shut the window, for it was very cold.

It was a long time before he made the effort to do this, and when he
did, a curious aching pain shot through him, and in a flash he knew that
he was not at Dunroe, but lying there somewhere in the mountains on the
wet grass, and he remembered all he had gone through.

He lay piecing it all together, and involuntarily his hand went to his
pockets, to find watch, chain, purse, pocket-book, all there safely, and
that he was unhurt.

Was it all a dream?

No; he felt that it was real enough, and that he must not lie there, but
rise once more, and try hard, and, he hoped, with better fortune, to
find some place where he could obtain shelter.

Making an effort which cost him no little pain, he turned over and
struggled to his knees, but only to sink down again, feeling absolutely
helpless, and ready to declare to himself that, come what might, he
could not stir till morning, even if he were able then.

Looking helplessly about him, it was to see that the night was
brilliantly clear, and that there was a gleam of water somewhere down
far below on his right, for the stars were reflected from it.  But it
seemed more restful to lie there waiting, and, cold as he was, it was a
dull, numbing cold that was far less painful than trying to move.

All at once he shivered with dread, for there was a rushing sound as of
some creatures galloping, and he could hear faint snortings and the
panting of heavy breath.

Some herd of wild animals had gone by.  It could not be sheep, for the
movement was too swift; but once more all was silent, and he was sinking
into a half-drowsy condition, more resembling the approach of stupor
than sleep, when he started back into wakefulness, for he heard in the
distance the sharp barking of a dog.

This died away, grew louder, died away again, and then seemed to be
coming steadily nearer and nearer, but, as it approached, so did the
stupefying sensation, till the barking died right away; the stars were
again blotted out, and Max knew no more till he started to himself again
in alarm, as the cold, wet nose of a dog was touching his face.  There
was a quick snuffling about him, and then there was a loud burst of
barking, and he felt that the dog who barked was standing with his
forepaws on his chest.  "Dirk," he said feebly; "is it you, Dirk?"  The
dog gave a whining cry, licked at his face, and then barked again with
all his might.

Then there was silence, and from out of the distant darkness came a low
hail.

The dog barked again sharply, and stopped, when there was the hail again
more loudly, and this was repeated at intervals as the dog scuffled
about, running a little way to bark, and then coming, back to plant his
paws on Max's chest.

All this now seemed part of a dream, till he was roused again by hearing
a panting sound, feeling his hand seized, and then hearing a familiar
voice shout,--

"Father, ahoy!  Tavvy, ahoy!  Here he is!" and, as the dog whined and
barked again, there were faint hails from the distance.  Then these grew
louder, and the next thing Max heard was,--

"Oh, Maxy, old lad!" and a warm hand was laid upon his brow.

Then there was more hailing, and barking, and an impatient muttering,
and then there were deeper voices talking close by where he lay, and, as
if in part of his dream, something hot and strangling seemed to be
trickling down his throat.

"There," said a deep voice which seemed very familiar, "she'll ket the
plaidie round the laddie when she's cot her on her pack, and that and ta
whusky'll warm her."

"I'll carry him when you are tired, Tavish," said another familiar
voice.

"She can carry ta puir laddie all tay an' all nicht.  Maister Ken, tit
ye iver see a tog wi' a petter nose than Dirk?"

"No, Tavvy; but do make haste."

"Ay, laddie; but bide a wee, till she cot her well upo' her shouthers.
There.  Noo, ta plaidie.  Noo then, we can get there in twice twa hoors.
She'll go first."

"Oh, father, are we too late?" came then in a whisper to Max's ears, as
he felt himself being once more carried.

"Please God, no, my boy!" came back hoarsely.

Then there was another loud and joyful burst of barking, and then all
blank.



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

AN EXCITING CHASE.

"Scood! you beast!"

"Silence, Kenneth!" cried The Mackhai sternly, as he looked
half-angrily, half-pleased at the flushed face of the young gillie.

"She ton't care.  She'll fecht for ta Mackhai till she ties."

"Leave the room, sir!" cried The Mackhai.  "You meant well, but you have
done a cruel and cowardly thing."

Scoodrach hung his head, and stooped to pick up his bonnet by one of the
strands of the worsted tuft, letting the soft flat cap spin slowly round
as he watched it, and then he moved toward the door.

"Stop!" cried The Mackhai.

Scoodrach turned sharply and defiantly round, with his hot northern
blood flushing to his temples.

"Ta Chief may kill her," he cried; "but she shall na say she's sorry."

"Go and fetch Tavish and your father, sir, and never dare to address me
again like that."

Scoodrach slunk out of the room, and, as he turned to shut the door, his
eyes met those of Kenneth, who shook his fist at him.

Without a moment's hesitation, Scoodrach doubled his own, and looked
defiance as the door was closed.

"Never dare to address me again like that!" muttered The Mackhai.  "Poor
lad! there is no fear."

"What shall we do, father?"

"Do?  We must all set out in search of Max, and bring him back.  In my
anger, Ken, I have done a brutal thing."

"But you did not mean it, father."

"How could he know that?  See if he has taken his luggage.  No, no;
impossible!  The poor lad has wandered right away into the mountains,
and I am to blame.  Get the ponies, Kenneth; we may do better mounted.
I suppose," he added bitterly, "we may use them for the present."

Kenneth darted out of the room, met Tavish and Long Shon, and in a very
few minutes the two sturdy little ponies were in the old courtyard, The
Mackhai and his son mounting, and the little party starting off at once.

Before they had gone far, The Mackhai turned his head.

"Where is that boy?" he said.

No one replied, for Scood had not been seen to leave, but from where he
was seated Kenneth could just see a tuft of wool sticking up above the
heather, and he pressed the sides of his pony and cantered back to where
the boy lay upon his face in a hollow, with his bonnet tilted on to the
back of his head.

"Here, Scoody!  What are you doing there?" cried Kenneth.

"Naething."

"Get up, sir, and come on."

"Na.  She will gang away and be a redcoat.  Naebody cares for Scoody the
noo."

"Don't be a red-headed donkey.  Get up, and come and show us which way
Max Blande went."

Scoodrach shook his head.

"Look here, if you don't get up, I'll call father, and he'll come and
lay into you with the dog-whip."

"He wadna daur," cried the lad, leaping up and glaring at the speaker.

"Yes, he would, and so would I, if I had one here."

"Gin ye daur lay a finger on her, she'll hae your bluid!" cried
Scoodrach.

"There!" cried Kenneth, pressing his pony's sides, and reaching over to
catch tightly hold of the lad's collar.  "I daur lay a whole hand on
you, Scoody.  Noo, lat's see gin ye daur turn on your Chief."

"Ye know I wadna hurt a hair o' your heid," muttered the lad.

"Then come on, like a good fellow, Scoody, and help to find him."

"D'ye want to find the laddie wha's gaun to rob ye o' ta auld plaace?"

"Yes.  Come on, Scood.  We mustn't quarrel, and you won't be such a
brute as to refuse to help me because I'm going to be poor."

"Puir or rich!" cried the lad, with the tears of excitement in his eyes,
"gin ye want her to, she'll dee for ye, Maister Ken."

"That's old Scoody once again," cried Kenneth, drumming his pony's
flanks; and as the little animal whisked round, Scoodrach caught hold of
its long tail, gave the hairs a twist round his hand, and away they went
after the others, to whom they soon caught up.

Then followed a long and wearisome search, Scoodrach pointing out the
way Max had taken, when, as there was no path or even sheep-track, they
divided, and went on mile after mile, only to give up at dark and return
tired and faint, and with Scoodrach hanging his head as he felt how he
had been the cause of all the trouble; and, seizing the first
opportunity, he slipped off with the ponies, to bed them down for the
night.

"We must be up at daybreak and begin again, Ken," said The Mackhai
sadly.  "That boy must be found.  Can you form any idea which way he
would take?"

"No, father.  I've been trying to think, but we seem to have tried
everywhere, and I don't believe he could have gone very far."

"He had a long start."

"You don't think he has come to any harm--slipped over the crags
anywhere, or gone into--"

Kenneth stopped and shuddered.

"One of the boggy patches, Ken?  Oh no, my boy.  He has been out so much
with you and Scoodrach, that he ought to be able to take care of himself
by now."

"Yes, father--ought to," said Kenneth meaningly; and then, in an
outburst of passion, as he stood with clenched fists, "I'll give Scoody
such a thrashing as he never had in his life!  I'll half kill him."

"Hush!  That will do," said The Mackhai sadly.  "The boy acted according
to his lights.  He was, in his half-savage way, fighting for the honour
of our old house."

"Yes, father, but--"

"Hush, my boy!  Our days are numbered at Dunroe: let us leave here with
as pleasant memories as we can, and with the love and respect of those
who have looked to us for bread."

"Oh, father!" cried Kenneth; and there was a great sob in his throat,
and his face was contracted though his eyes were dry.

The Mackhai grasped his son's hand.

"Be a man, Ken," he said quietly.  "You ought to have commenced life
well, but now you will have to go forth into the world and fight your
way.  You must make friends, not enemies."

"It would not make Scood an enemy, father, and a good whacking would do
him good."

"No, no, Ken.  Now get some food, and go and lie down for a few hours to
have some rest.  We can do nothing till daylight."

"Very well, father.  And--and I will try not to mind leaving the old
place, and to be a man."

"God bless you, my boy!" cried The Mackhai, laying his hands upon his
son's shoulders and gazing into his eyes.  "Come, Ken, trouble has its
good sides after all; it has taught me something more about the nature
of my son.  Now, go and get some rest; I shall not be happy till I have
taken that boy again by the hand."

"Why, father!" cried Kenneth excitedly.  "Oh, what an old donkey I am!"

Before The Mackhai could speak, he had rushed out of the room and across
the hall, to return at the end of a few minutes in company with Dirk,
who was barking, and as excited as his master.

"Why, Ken!" cried The Mackhai.

"It's all right, father.  Dirk will find him.  Tavvy is waiting.  Don't
you come.  We'll have poor old Maxy back before long."

"I shall come with you," said The Mackhai, rising, and taking a flask
and plaid from where they lay.  "What are you going to do first?"

"I'll soon show you," cried Ken excitedly.  "Here, Dirk, old boy, put on
your best nose to-night, and let's show the Londoner what a Highland dog
can do."

Dirk barked loudly, and followed his master as he rushed out of the room
and up-stairs to Max's chamber, where Kenneth dragged some of the
clothes which his visitor had worn last down upon the carpet.

"Now, Dirk! seek, laddie, seek!"

The dog dashed at the clothes, snuffed at them, tossed them over,
snuffed at them again, and then uttered a sharp, whining bark.

"Come along," cried Kenneth, and he ran down to the hall, where his
father was ready, and then out into the dark courtyard, at whose
entrance Tavish was waiting, armed with a tall staff.

"I ken ye're richt, maister," he said.  "We'll lay ta collie on chust
where the laddie saw ta young chentleman last."

Very little was said as they trudged on, Kenneth holding Dirk by one of
his ears, till they reached the foot of the slope, pointed out by
Scoodrach as the road taken by Max.

Here the dog was loosed, and he looked up in his master's face, barking
loudly, as if asking for instructions, and not yet comprehending what
was meant.

"Seek, laddie, seek!  Max, Max!  Seek, seek!"

Dirk uttered a low yelping whine, and began to quarter the ground,
whimpering and growing more and more excited as he increased the
distance between him and those who followed by sound, for the dog was
soon invisible in the darkness.

For quite a quarter of an hour the hunt was kept on, each minute damping
the hopes of the party more and more, till The Mackhai said sadly,--

"It's of no use, my boy.  You're asking too much of the dog."

"She thocht Dirk would ha' takken it up," said Tavish slowly.  "She's na
the dog she thocht."

"Don't give up yet, father.  I feel sure."

"Hey, she's cot it!" cried Tavish wildly, as a loud baying bark came
from Dirk.

"Yes, come on!  He has got it now," cried Kenneth, and he dashed on at a
sharp trot right into the darkness.

"Keep up with him, Tavish," cried The Mackhai.  "Steady, Ken, steady."

"All right, father," came from far ahead.

"Oh ay, sir, she'll be close aifter the young Chief.  Hark! d'ye hear?
Dirk's got the scent, and she'll rin him doon."

Right away in the darkness the low barking of the dog could be heard,
for Dirk had indeed got on the scent, and, with the wondrous faculty of
his kind, he was trotting steadily on over the grass and heather, nose
down, tail high, and not for a moment halting in his quest.

Hour after hour the hunt went on, no little exertion being needed to
keep within hearing of the dog, who followed Max's trail right on and
on--a devious, wandering trail, right along to the narrow gully where
the dark loch lay.  After coming to a halt several times, where Max had
waded into patches of bog, and also where he had stepped over the
precipitous place and fallen a few feet, to slide and scramble down some
distance farther, Dirk picked up the trail again, and trotted on.

These halts gave those who followed time to catch up, and there were so
many faults along the edge of the dark, narrow loch, that Kenneth and
Tavish were together and pretty close behind.

"Think o' ta laddie finding his way doon here," said the forester.

"You don't think he can have slipped in anywhere?" whispered Kenneth.
"It's a nasty place, even by day."

"Oh ay, laddie, and ta fush are sma' and hard to get.  She'd get richt
alang, though.  Noo, which way wad she gang--up by ta waterfa', or awa'
through ta wee bit burnie?"

"I don't know, Tavvy," panted Kenneth; "but we ought to be near him
now."

"Nay; she'll be a lang gate yet, my bairn.  Air ye there, sir?"

"Yes; go on," came from behind; and the rough tramp was continued, till
the forester cried,--

"She's gaed up ta burnie."

"Why, Tavvy, there's a light there!  What light's that?"

"Licht?" said Tavish innocently.  "Hey, there's a licht!"

"What can it be?"

"Only a shepherd's bothy."

"There is no shepherd's bothy up here on the Clandougal estate, Tavvy."

"Maybe it's some Southron laird had a cot made for him to fush ta loch."

"Nonsense, Tavvy! and if it was so, no one would be having a big fire
there at this time of night."

"Whush, laddie!"

"But--I know!  Why, Tavvy, it's a still!"

"Whush!  Here, lat's ca' back ta tog."

"Nonsense!  He has gone right on.  Hurray! we've found him.  Max is sure
to be up there by the fire."

"Ta laddies wadna lat her stop," muttered Tavish; "put we'll pe hafin'
trouble wi' 'em.  Hearken to ta tog!"

"Why, Ken, look," came from behind, as the dog's barking went echoing
along the narrow little glen; "that must be a still.  Eh, Tavish?"

"Aw'm thinking maybe it sall be a still, sir," said Tavish innocently,
as his master closed up.

"Maybe?" said The Mackhai sharply; "and I'm thinking you knew it was
there, and have tasted the stuff."

Tavish was silent, and they all plodded on toward the distant light, the
dog's track being straight for it naturally, for the only way up the
little glen was by the burn.

"Ta licht's gone," muttered Tavish.  "She'll be thinking they've heert
ta tog, and thrown watter upo' it, and we shall be in trouble pefore
we've done."

"Hallo!" cried Kenneth; "the light's out."

The Mackhai called attention to the fact at the same moment.

"Keep close to me, Kenneth," he said.  "But no they would not dare," he
said to himself.

Tavish turned to his master.

"Shall she fecht?"

"There will be no need, my man.  Get on.  We shall find the boy has
taken shelter there."

Tavish shook his head, and muttered to himself.

"What is it, Tavvy?" said Kenneth.

"If it's ta whusky they're makking aboon yonder, ta young chentleman
isna there."

"Well, we shall soon see about that," cried Kenneth, pressing on in the
most reckless way, and only saving himself from several falls by his
activity, for he went among the broken rocks like a goat.

A loud burst of barking lent speed to his feet; and ten minutes later
the party were up in front of the rough building, from which came to
their nostrils the strong reek of steam, telling that water had been
thrown upon the fire they had seen.

There was no answer to their calls, but Dirk was barking furiously
inside, and Kenneth at once entered, Tavish following to light a match;
but there was no one within, only enough visible to show what business
had been going on.

"Any one about here?" shouted Kenneth, after they had satisfied
themselves that Max was not to be seen.

But there was no reply, and Tavish shouted in Gaelic.

Only the echoes answered his call; and Kenneth impatiently coaxed out
the dog, who seemed to think that his work was done.

"He has been here, father, and they've gone on."

"Ta loons air hiding, laddie," whispered Tavish, "and hearin' every word
we say.  Hey! but Dirk has it again.  Gude tog! gude tog!"

Dirk had suddenly taken up the track again, and followed faithfully on,
right up the side of the glen, and away over the level mountain plain,
after tracking the fugitive by the side of a great fall, which made its
way downward into the loch.

The rest of the hunt was easy, for Dirk took them on and on; Kenneth
growing so excited, as he felt that the end of the chase was near, that
he left Tavish and his father far in the rear.

Then Dirk dashed right away, and Kenneth was in turn left behind, till
he knew that the dog had found, for his loud baying came from away in
the darkness, as he stood barking over the spot where Max lay, half
asleep, half in a state of stupor, brought on by cold.



CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

INSTRUCTIONS FROM LONDON.

"There, you jolly old scaramouch!" cried Kenneth, laughing.  "Now I can
serve you out."

"No, no, Kenneth; let me get up, please."

"Deal of mercy you had on me when I was ill.  Now it's my turn, and I've
got you.  I'll serve you out."

"But, indeed, I am well enough to get up."

"No, you're not.  Tavvy says you are not to stir, and you must make the
best of it."

There was a scratching at the door just then, and Kenneth ran across the
carpet to admit Dirk, who gave a sharp bark, and bounded to the bed to
nuzzle his nose in Max's hand.

"Did you ever see such a dog as that, Maxy?  There are not many that
would have hunted you out as he did."

"No, I suppose not," said Max sadly and wearily, as he lay there,
suffering from the chill brought on by his exposure upon the mountains
four nights before.  "But it was a pity you brought me back."

"That's five times you've said that to-day," cried Kenneth.  "Now, just
you say it once more, and I'll punch your head."

Max shook the threatened part of his person sadly, and then lay looking
wearily at the window.

"Look here, old chap!" said Kenneth suddenly; "father says if you are
not better by to-night, he shall send to Glasgow for a doctor to come
and stop with you, and write word to your governor in London."

"I'm--I'm much better," said Max hastily.  "I shall not want a doctor;
and tell Mr Mackhai that I want to go home as soon as I can start."

"All right, Maxy, old chap," said Kenneth slowly and sadly; "but I say,
look here--"

He stopped short, and, in a quiet, methodical way, law his hand upon his
friend's brow.

"I say, how hot your head is!  Wait a moment."

He placed one arm beneath his neck, lifted his head, turned the pillow,
and gently lowered Max back upon the cool, soft linen.

"That's comfortable, isn't it?"

"Yes; so cool and refreshing!"

"So it used to be when you nursed me."

There was a dead silence.

"I say, Maxy."

"Yes."

"I like you now."

"Do you?"

"Yes, ever so.  I didn't at first, because you seemed such a coward."

"I suppose I am," sighed Max.

"That you're not; and I'd pitch anybody overboard who said so.  You were
all strange to us and our ways when you came down; but you're as full of
pluck underneath, though you don't show it outside, as any fellow I ever
knew."

Max shook his head again.

"But I say you are.  Don't contradict, or I'll hit you, and then
there'll be a fight.  Now, I say, look here!  I couldn't help my father
borrowing money of your father?"

"No, of course not."

"And you couldn't help your father wanting it back?"

"No, no.  Don't talk about it, please."

"Yes, I shall, because I must.  Look ye here, Maxy, if we can't help it,
and we like one another, why shouldn't we still be the best of friends?"

Max stared at him.

"Would you be friends?" he said at last.

"I should think I will--that is, if you'll be friends with such a poor
beggar as I shall be now."

Max gripped his hand, and the two lads were in that attitude when The
Mackhai suddenly entered the room.

Max drew in his breath sharply, as if in pain, and lay back gazing at
his host, who came forward and shook hands, before seating himself at
the bedside.

It was not the first meeting by several, during which Max had been
treated with a kindness and deference which showed his host's anxiety to
efface the past.

"Come, this is better," he said cheerily.  "Why, I should say you could
get up now?"

"Yes, sir; that is what I have been telling your son," said Max hastily.

"Yes, father; he wants to get up and rush off at once; and I tell him
it's all nonsense, and that he is to stay!"

The Mackhai was silent for a few moments, as he sat struggling with his
pride, and, as he saw Max watching him eagerly, he coloured.

The gentleman triumphed, and he said quietly and gravely,--

"My dear boy, I want you to try and forget what passed the other night,
when, stung almost beyond endurance, I said words to you that no
gentleman ought to have spoken toward one who was his guest, and more
than guest, the companion and friend of his son.  There, I apologise to
you humbly.  Will you forgive me?"

"Mr Mackhai!" cried Max, in a choking voice, as he seized the hand
extended to him.

"Hah! that is frank and natural, my lad.  Thank you.  Now, shall we
forget the past?"

Max nodded, but he could not trust himself to speak, while Kenneth ran
round to the other side of the bed.

"And he is not to think of going, father?" he cried.

"I don't say that, Ken," replied his father.  "Under all the
circumstances, I can readily believe that Max would prefer to return to
town; but I expressly forbid his hurrying away.  Oblige me, Max, by
staying with Kenneth till next Thursday, when I shall return.  It will
be dull for him alone."

"Are you going away, father?"

"Yes; I start for Edinburgh at once, and as I shall not see you again,
Max, I will say good-bye.  You will be gone before I reach Dunroe in the
evening."

He shook hands once more, and left the room, Max thoroughly grasping the
gentlemanly feeling which had prompted him to behave with so much
delicacy.

"There, Max, you will stay now?" cried Kenneth.

"Yes, I will stay now," he replied.

"Then that's all right.  We'll have some fishing and shooting--for the
last few times," he said to himself, as he turned away to see his father
before he left the place.

Max rose and dressed as soon as he was alone, but he was not long in
finding that he was not in a fit condition to take a journey; and during
the rest of his stay at Dunroe there were no more pleasure-trips, for
the zest for them was in the case of both lads gone.

And yet those last days were not unpleasant, for there was a peculiar
anxiety on the part of both to make up for the past.  Kenneth was eager
in the extreme to render Max's last days there such as should give him
agreeable memories of their intercourse.  While, on the other side, Max
felt deeply what Kenneth's position must be, and he too tried hard to
soften the pain of his lot.

Max had had a business-like letter from his father, telling him that he
had been compelled, by The Mackhai's failure to keep his engagements, to
foreclose certain mortgages and take possession of the estates.  Under
these circumstances, he wished his son to remain there and supervise the
proceedings of the bailiffs, writing to him in town every night as to
how matters stood.

It was a cool, matter-of-fact, legal letter, written by a clerk,
probably from dictation, and signed by the old lawyer.  But at the
bottom there was a postscript in his own crabbed hand, as follows:--

"You will be able to watch over all with more pleasure, when I tell you
that Dunroe is yours.  I mean it to be your estate, and you can see now
why I sent you down there to learn how to be a Scottish gentleman."

Max flushed as he read this, and he exclaimed aloud--"A Scottish
gentleman could not bear to be placed in such a position!" and he sat
down and wrote at once to say that he had been seriously unwell, and
must return to town on a certain day.

"Squeamish young donkey!" said the hard-griping old man of the world,
when he received his son's letter.  "Bad as his weak, sensitive mother.
Know better some day.  If I had been so particular, Dunroe would not be
mine to leave."



CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

A SAD PARTING.

"So you're off to-morrow, Max?" said Kenneth sadly.

"Yes.  How beautiful everything looks, now I am going away!"

"Yes," said Kenneth, with a quaint glance first at the distant islands
rising all lilac and gold from the sapphire sea; "how beautiful
everything looks, now I am going away!"

"Oh, Ken!"

"And oh, Max!  There, don't turn like that, old chap.  It's the fortune
of war, as they say.  Good luck to you.  I feel now as if I'd rather you
had Dunroe than anybody else.  I say, let's call Scoody, and get out the
boat, and have one last sail together."

"Yes, do," cried Max eagerly.

"All right.  I'll go and find Scoody.  Get the lines.  We may as well
try for some mackerel as we go."

Kenneth ran out of the room, and Max went to the little study, got the
lines, and then was about to follow his friend, when he recalled the
fact that he had not been to see old Donald since he had been better.

So, going out into the courtyard, he made for the old man's quarters,
knocked, was told to come in, and entered, to find the piper propped up
in an easy-chair, and Long Shon and Tavish keeping him company.

The old man glared at him strangely, and grasped at something he had in
his lap which emitted a feeble squeak, and Max saw that they were his
pipes, about which his thin fingers played.

"I'm going away to-morrow, Donald," said Max, "and wanted to know how
you were."

The old man neither moved nor spoke, but his deeply-sunken eyes seemed
to burn, as he glared fiercely, and his breathing sounded deep and
hoarse.

"I hope you are better?"

There was no reply.

"He is better, is he not, Tavish?"

The great forester gazed straight before him at the wall, but made no
reply.

"What is the matter, Shon?" said Max uneasily.

Long Shon took a pinch of snuff, and gazed at the floor.

"Look here!" cried Max earnestly; "I wanted to thank you all for your
kindness to me since I have been here, and I may not have another
chance.  Donald, Long Shon, Tavish--just a little remembrance, and thank
you."

As he spoke, he slipped a sovereign into the hands of the two first
named, and two into that of the forester.  But, as if moved by the same
idea, all three dashed the money at his feet, the gold coins jingling
upon the stone floor.

Max's eyes dilated, and he gazed from one to the other.

"I am very sorry," he said, after a painful pause.  "Good-bye.  It is
not my fault."

He went slowly out, and before he had gone half a dozen yards the money
struck him on the back, and Long Shon cried hoarsely,--

"Tonal' sends ye his curse for blasting ta home o' ta Mackhais!"

Once more the coins fell jingling down, and, flinching away, shrinking
with shame, sorrow, and indignation, Max returned into the house,
feeling that he could not go boating now, and wishing that the next day
had come, and he were on the road back to London.

But, just as he reached the hall, he heard the voice of the man in
charge raised loudly, and, looking out, he saw the second man running
along the natural rock terrace, below which lay the bathing cavern and
the rugged platform from which they would take boat.

The next moment Scoodrach's voice rose in shrill and angry tones, and he
could see that Kenneth was holding him back.

Max ran down with his pulses throbbing, for he felt that something was
very wrong.

"I'll have the law of him," the bailiff was saying, as Max ran up.  "He
struck me, and drew his knife on me.  I'll have him locked up before he
knows where he is."

"Let her go, let her go, Maister Ken!" yelled Scoodrach, struggling
furiously.  "She'll hae her bluid!  Let her go, and she'll slit her
weam!"

"Be quiet, Scood," said Kenneth, holding the young gillie fast, but
speaking in a low, despondent tone.  "Here, Max, take the knife away
from this mad fool."

"Nay, nay," cried Scoodrach; "if the Southron comes she'll hae her bluid
too."

Instinctively grasping what was the matter, and with his cheeks flushed
with indignation, Max dashed at Scoodrach, seized his wrist, and twisted
the knife out of his hand.

"What does this mean?" he cried, turning angrily upon the bailiff.

"Mean, sir?  My orders are to let nothing go off the premises, and this
young gentleman comes doon wi' this young Hieland wild cat, and tries to
get oot the boat."

"Well?"

"Well, sir, I said it was not to go, and then this cat-a-mountain struck
me."

"She insulted ta young Chief," panted Scoodrach.

"Be quiet, Scoody; there is no young Chief now," said Kenneth sadly.

"Hey, but ta Mackhai will never tie!" yelled Scoodrach.

"Do you mean to say that you hindered Mr Kenneth here from taking the
boat for a sail?" cried Max angrily.

"My orders air that naething is to go off the place," said the bailiff
sturdily.

"Then you stopped him from taking his own boat?"

"No, sir," cried the bailiff; "it's not his boat, but Mr Blande's, of
Lincoln's Inn, London."

"It is not.  The boat and everything here is mine," cried Max fiercely.
"Take the boat, Ken, and if this insolent scoundrel dares to interfere,
knock him down."

"Hurray!" yelled Scoodrach, breaking loose and throwing his bonnet in
the air.  "Weel done, Maister Max!  But na, na; it's no' her poat, and
naething here is hers, ye ken."

"Come on, Ken."

"Well, sir, I shall report all this to--"

"Ye ill-faured loon, stan' awa'," yelled Scoodrach, as Max laid his hand
on Kenneth's shoulder; and they went down together to the boat, while
the bailiff and his man walked muttering back to the house.

"Jump in, Scoodrach, and cast her loose," cried Max; but Kenneth's hand
closed tightly on his wrist.

"No, Max," he said slowly and sadly.  "Let's get back into the house.  I
don't feel as if I could go for a sail to-day."

"Oh, Ken!" whispered Max; "and I said everything was mine.  I did not
mean it.  I couldn't take a thing."

"Let's go indoors."

"But if by law the boat is mine, it's yours again now.  Come, take me
for one more ride."

"No, no!  I can't go now."

There was a dead silence on the old grey terrace for a few minutes.  The
gulls wailed as they swept here and there over the glistening sea, and
the golden-red and brown weed washed to and fro among the rocks.

"I ask you to go, Ken," said Max gently.  "Don't refuse me this.  Scood,
my things are packed; fetch them down.  Kenneth Mackhai, I shall go
to-day; take me to meet the steamer, just as you came to meet me six
weeks ago."

Ken looked at him half wonderingly.

"Do you mean it?" he said hoarsely.

"Yes.  You will?"

"Yes."

An hour had not passed before the white-sailed boat was softly bending
over to the breeze, and almost in silence the three lads sat gazing
before them, heedless of the glorious panorama of mountain, fiord, and
fall that seemed to be gliding by, till far away in the distance they
could see the red funnel of David Macbrayne's swift steamer pouring
forth its trailing clouds of black smoke, which seemed to reach for
miles.

Then by degrees the steamer grew plainer, the white water could be seen
foaming behind the beating paddles, and the figures of the passengers on
deck.  Then the faces grew clearer, and there was a scurry by the
gangway, and almost directly after the paddles ceased churning up the
clear water, the sail dropped down.  Scoodrach caught the rope that was
thrown; the portmanteaus, gun-case, and rods were passed up, and, not
trusting himself to speak, Max grasped Scoodrach's hand, pressing a
couple of sovereigns therein, seized Kenneth's for a moment, and then
leaped on board.

The rope was cast off; there was a loud ting from the captain's bell,
the paddles revolved, the boat glided astern, with Kenneth sitting
despondently on one of the thwarts, and some one at Max's elbow said to
another hard by,--

"See that red-headed Scotch boy?"

"Yes; but did you see what he did?"

"Yes; threw something into the sea."

"Did you see what it was?"

"No."

"A couple of sovereigns."

"No!"

"Yes.  I saw them go right down through the clear water."

"Then he must be mad."

"Not mad," said Max to himself; "but as full of pride as of love for The
Mackhai."

He made his way astern, and took off and waved his bonnet.

The effect was electrical.  Kenneth sprang up and waved his bonnet in
return, and, a few minutes later, Scoodrach, whose ire had passed away,
began to wave his, and Max stood watching and wondering why they did not
hoist the sail and return.

And then he did not wonder, but stood leaning over the rail, watching
the boat grow less and the figures in her smaller, till they seemed to
die away in the immensity of the great sea.

But Max did not move even then.  His heart was full, and it was with a
sensation of sorrow and despondency such as he had never felt before
that the rest of the journey was made, boat changed for train, and
finally, and with a reluctance such as he could not have believed
possible, he reached London, and stood once more before his father, who
met him coolly enough, with,--

"Well, Max, back again?"

"Yes, father; and I want to ask you something about Dunroe."

"Humph!" said the old lawyer, about half an hour later; "so you think
like that, do you, Max?"

"Yes, father."

"Well, you'll grow older and wiser some day."

"But you will not turn them out?"

"When I want to take you into counsel, Master Max, I shall do so.  Now
please understand this once for all."

"Yes, father?"

"Never mention the names of the Mackhais again."



CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

RESTITUTION.

Time glided on, and Mr Andrew Blande's plans did not seem to turn out
quite as he wished.  The customary legal proceedings were got through,
and he became full possessor of Dunroe, with the right, as the deeds
said, to enjoy these rights.  But he was a very old man, one who had
married late in life, to find that he had made a mistake, for the
marriage was hurried on by the lady's friends on account of his wealth,
and the lady who became his wife lived a somewhat sad life, and died
when her son Max was ten years old.

To make Max happy, his father had been in the habit of letting him lead
a sedentary life, and of telling him how rich he would some day be, and
had gone on saving and hoarding, and gaining possession of estate after
estate.

But when he had obtained Dunroe, he did not enjoy it.  He went down once
to stay there, but he never did so again; and finding, in spite of all
he could say, that Max would not enjoy it either, and seemed to have a
determined objection to become a Scottish country gentleman, he placed
the estate in the hands of his agent to let, and it was not long before
a tenant was found for the beautiful old place.

As the years glided on, Max went to college, and kept up a regular
correspondence with Kenneth, who, as soon as it could be managed after
their leaving Dunroe, went to Sandhurst, his father contenting himself
with quiet chambers in town near his club.

But Max and Kenneth did not meet; the troubles at Dunroe seemed to keep
them separate.  Still, there was always a feeling on the part of both
that some day they would be the best of friends once more, and the money
question be something that was as good as forgotten.

One day, Max, who had six months previously been summoned to London on
very important business, received a letter which had followed him from
Cambridge to the dingy old house in Lincoln's Inn.

The young man's face flushed as he opened and read the long epistle,
whose purport was that The Mackhai had gone to Baden-Baden for a couple
of months, that the writer was alone at his father's chambers, and
asking Max to renew some of their old friendly feeling by coming to stay
with him for a few days.

Six months before, Max would have declined at once, but now he wrote
accepting the invitation with alacrity.

It was for the next day but one, and in due course Max drove up with his
portmanteau, and was ushered by a red-haired, curly-headed footman to
Kenneth's room.

"The maister's not in," said the footman; "but she was to--I was to say
that he'd soon be pack--back, and--"

"Why, Scoody, I didn't know you," cried Max.  "How you have grown!"

"Yes, she's--I mean, sir, I have grown a good deal and master says I
haven't done."

There was the rattle of a latch-key in the outer door, and a tall,
handsome young fellow, thoroughly soldierly-looking in every point,
strode into the room.

"Max, old chap!" he cried, catching his hands and standing shaking them
heartily.  "Why, what a great--I say, what a beard."

"And you six feet!"

"No, no--five feet ten."

"And moustached, and a regular dragoon!"

"How did you know that?"

"Know that?"

"Yes; I've just got my commission in the Thirtieth Dragoons."

"I congratulate you!" cried Max.  "`Full many a shot at random sent,'
etcetera."

"Then you did not know?  Well, never mind that; only it isn't all
pleasure.  The governor says it is too expensive a service for me to go
in.  The old fellow's not very flush of money, you see."

"Indeed?" said Max quietly.

"Well, never mind that either.  But I say, what are you going in for--
Church or Law?"

"Neither.  I think I shall settle down as a country gentleman."

"Yes, of course," said Kenneth hastily.  "Here, let me show you your
room.  We'll have a snug _tete-a-tete_ dinner, and talk about our old
fishing days, and the boating."

"Yes," cried Max; "and the fishing and boating to come."

"Ah!" said Kenneth thoughtfully; and the conversation drifted off into
minor matters, and about Kenneth's prospects as a soldier.

The _tete-a-tete_ dinner was eaten, and they became as it were three
boys again, Scoodrach trying to look very sedate, but his cheeks shining
and eyes flashing as he listened, while pretending to be busy over his
work.  Then at last the young men were seated together over their
coffee, and the conversation took a fresh turn.

"My father?" said Kenneth, in answer to a question; "oh, very well and
jolly.  I say, do you two go down much to--to Dunroe?"

"No," said Max huskily.  "You do not seem to know my father has been
dead these six months."

"I beg your pardon, Max, old fellow.  I ought to have known.  Shall you
go down to Dunroe much now?"

"I hope so--often," said Max.

Kenneth was silent, and sat gazing dreamily before him, while Max
watched him curiously.

"And I hope--I shall see you there often," said Max.

"Eh? what?" said Kenneth, flushing and frowning.  "No, no, it's well
meant, Max, old chap, but I couldn't do it.  I couldn't go there again."

There was another silence, and, to Kenneth's great relief, Max rose and
left the room without a word.

"Poor old chap!" said Kenneth; "I've offended him, I suppose.  I did not
mean to.  It was very blundering and foolish of him, though, to propose
such a thing."

He sat gazing before him sternly.

"Poor old Dunroe!" he said sadly.  "How I can see the dear old place
again, with its rocks all golden-ruddy weed, its shimmering sea, and the
distant blue mountains.  Ah, what days those were!  I should like to see
the dear old place again.  But no, no!  I couldn't go and stay there
now."

He leaped up, and strode once or twice up and down the room.

"Here, what a pretty host I am!  I must fetch him down.  I've hurt him,
and he always was such a sensitive chap."

He was half across the room when Max returned, with a large leather
lock-up folio under his arm.

"Oh, you needn't have fetched that down," said Kenneth.  "Plenty of
writing materials here.  But you are not going to write to-night?"

"No, not to-night," said Max quietly, taking a little silver key from
off his watch-chain, and opening the folio, which was made with a couple
of very large pockets.  "Do you take any interest in old writings?"

"Not a bit, my boy.  I've had enough to do to study up and pass my
exams.  But what have you got there?"

"The old mortgage and the title-deeds of Dunroe," said Max quietly.

"But--I say, old fellow, don't do that.  I'm pretty hard, but the name
of Dunroe always gives me a choky feeling in the throat."

"So it does me, Ken, old fellow!" cried Max, with his voice trembling.

"Then why--?"

"Wait a moment.  Do you remember how we two were gradually drawn
together up there in the north?"

"Yes, of course," said Kenneth huskily.

"I never had a brother, Ken, and I used to feel at last that I had found
one in you."

"And I used to think something of the kind, but--"

"Why not, Ken?"--Max was holding out his hand.

Kenneth stood a moment looking in his eyes, and then grasped the
extended hand firmly.

"Yes," he cried; "why not?  It's the same old Max after all."

"Then you'll act as a brother to me if I ever ask you to help me in some
critical point of my life?"

"Indeed I will."

"Then help me now, Ken, as a brother should, to make a great
restoration, and me a happier man."

"I--I don't understand," cried Kenneth wonderingly.  "What do you mean?"

"Your father's while he lives, Ken; yours after as his heir."

"Are you mad, Max?"

"Yes, with delight, old fellow!" he cried, as he forced the folio and
its contents into his old friend's hands.

"But--"

"Not another word.  My father left me very rich, and in a codicil to his
will he said he hoped I should make good use of the wealth he left me,
and that it might prove a greater source of happiness to me than it had
been to him."

"But, Max--"

"I think he would approve of what I am doing now; and if you do not ask
me down for a month or two every year, I'll say you are not the Ken
Mackhai I used to know."

The objections to and protestations against Max Blande's munificent gift
were long and continued.  The Mackhai was summoned over from Baden, and
he declared it to be impossible.

But all was arranged at last, and Max's fortune suffered very little by
his generosity.

The Mackhais took possession of the old home once again, and Max Blande
was present at the rejoicings; when fires were lit on each of the four
old towers, when there was a feast for all comers, and Tavish went
through the evolutions of the sword-dance, while torches were held
around, and old Donald, who had to sit to play, poured feebly forth some
of his favourite airs.

Max even felt that the pipes were bearable that night, as he poured out
some whisky for the ancient piper, and received his blessings now
instead of a furious curse.

And somehow, Max used to declare to Ken, he found ten times more
enjoyment in the place now than if it had been his own.

And time went on once more.

"Remember?" said a bronzed cavalry officer to a tall, sedate-looking
young country gentleman, as they sat together on the deck of The
Mackhai's yacht, gliding slowly up the great sea loch.

"Do I remember what?"

"Where I picked you up from the steamer when you first came down?"

"To be sure I do, Ken, old fellow!  Why, it must have been just here.
Why, Ken, that's fifteen years ago!"

"Exactly, almost to a month.  And I've been all around the world since
then.  How does it make you feel?"

"How?" cried Max, laying his hand upon the other's shoulder; "as if we
were boys again.  And you?"

"As if the memories of boyhood can never die."

THE END.





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Three Boys - or the Chiefs of the Clan Mackhai" ***

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