Chapter Five.

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,distinguéman, 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?”

“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,distinguéman, 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.

“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.”

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 andruta 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.

“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 andruta 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.

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