Chapter Sixteen.

Chapter Sixteen.A Brave Attempt.For a few moments Max Blande stood as if petrified, and those moments were like an hour, while the thought flashed through him of what must be going on below, where he seemed to see Kenneth gazing down in horror at the shapeless form of Scoodrach lying unrecognisable on the rocks below.All feeling of dread on his own behalf was gone now; and, as soon as the first shock was over, he tore himself free of the snake-like rope, and stepped to the edge of the cliff, to gaze down with dilated eyes.“Well, you’ve done it now!” saluted him as he strained over the edge to look below, where Kenneth, instead of looking down, was looking up, while Scood was lying on the shelf of rock, rubbing himself with a hand that was bleeding freely.“Is—is he killed?” faltered Max, whose lips formed the question he had been about to ask before he saw the gillie lying there.“Do you hear, Scood? Are you killed?” said Kenneth coolly.“Is she kilt? Na, she isna kilt,” cried Scoodrach, with a savage snarl, which was answered by a furious fit of barking from the terrier, as he too looked down. “Hech, but this is the hartest stane! She’s gien hersel’ a dreadful ding.”“Then you are both safe?” cried Max joyfully.“Oh yes, quite safe, Max. Locked up tight. Did you cut the rope?”“Cut the rope? No, I didn’t touch it. Why did it break?”“I say, Scoody, why did the rope break?”“Oh, she’s a pad rotten old rope, an’ she’ll burn her as soon as she gets up again. But what a ding I gave my airm!”“That’s it, Max; the rope was rotten. Can you tie it together if we throw it up to you?”“Na,” shouted Scoodrach; “she couldna tie it together, and she couldna throw it up.”“I’m afraid I couldn’t tie it tight enough,” faltered Max; “but if I could, it would not bear you.”“It would have to bear us. We can’t stop down here. I say, Scoody, think we could climb up?”Scoodrach shook his head.“Well, then, can we get down?”“If she could get up or doon without a rope, the hawks wouldn’t have built their nest.”“That sounds like good logic, Max,” cried Kenneth, “so you had better let yourself over till you can hang by your hands, and then drop, and we’ll catch you.”“What?”“You wouldn’t hurt yourself so much as Scoody did, because we can both help you. He nearly went right over, and dragged me with him.”“Oh!” ejaculated Max, with a shudder.“Well, are you coming?”“No! Impossible! What for?”“To keep us company for a week or two, till somebody sees us. Hallo, Sneeshing! Good dog, then! Come down, we want you. Hooray, Scoody! dog for dinner! enough for three days. Then the young falcons will do for another day. Well, are you coming?”“Oh, Kenneth,” cried Max, “you’re making fun again. What shall we do?”“You mean, what shall we do? You’re all right. But you had better lower down the gun, and then I can shoot Scoody decently, when Sneeshing and the young hawks are done!”“Oh, pray be serious!”“I am. It’s a serious position. We mustn’t trust the rope again—eh, Scoody?”“Na! Oh, what a ding she gave her airm!”“Bother your arm!” cried Kenneth. “Here, Max, what’s to be done?”“I’ll run back and tell them at Dunroe.”“Ah, to be sure, that’s the way! but I didn’t know you could run across the loch.”Max’s jaw dropped, and he gave his companions a helpless stare.“I forgot the loch,” he said. “What shall I do? Where’s the nearest house?”“Across the loch.”“Are there none this side?”“There’s a keeper’s lodge ten miles away, on the other side of the mountain.”“I’ll run all the way there!” cried Max eagerly. “Tell me the way.”“Well, you go right north, straight over the mountain, and whenever you come to a bog, you stick in it. Then you lose your way every now and then, and get benighted, and there you are.”“You’re laughing at me again,” cried Max in agony; “and I want to help you.”“Well, I want you to help us, old chap, for we’re in a regular mess, and perhaps the hawks’ll come and pick our eyes out to feed the young ones.”“There, now, you’re laughing at me again!” cried Max. “I can’t help being so ignorant of your ways.”“Of course you can’t, Maxy. Well, look here, old chap, you can’t get over the mountain without some one to show you the way.”“Na; she’d lose hersel’,” cried Scoodrach. “Oh, what a ding she did give—”“Bother your old airm, Scoody! do be quiet. Look here, Max: now, seriously, unless a yacht comes by, there’s no chance of help, and just because we want a yacht to come by, there won’t be one for a week.”“Then what shall I do?”“Well, there’s only one thing you can do.”“Yes? quick, tell me!”“Go down to the boat and hoist the sail, and run back to Dunroe.”“But I couldn’t manage her.”“All right, then. Let’s all set to work and make our wills before we’re starved to death. No, I tell you what: you’ve got the gun; you’ll have to go shooting, and drop the birds over to us. You’re a good shot, aren’t you?”Max was silent.“Well, why don’t you speak? Look here, take the gun and shoot a hare. You’ll find one somewhere. Got any matches?”“Yes, I have a little silver box of wax-lights.”“That’s your sort! Then you can light a fire of heath and peat, and cook it, and drop it down, and we can eat it.”“But, as Mrs Glasse said in her cookery-book, ‘First catch your hare.’”“Why, you don’t mean to say you couldn’t shoot a hare?” cried Kenneth.“She couldna shoot a hare,” grumbled Scoodrach, rubbing his arm; and then, after looking very thoughtful and nervous, Max spoke out.“I am going down to the boat,” he said quietly; “and I shall try and set the sail, and go back to Dunroe.”“Bravo! hooray!” cried Kenneth. “That’s your sort; only the wind isn’t quite right, and you’ll have to tack.”“To tack what—the sail?”“No, no, I don’t mean nail the sail to the mast.”“Oh, I remember; go backwards and forwards with the boat.”“There, Scoody!” cried Kenneth triumphantly; “I only wish you had got as much brains in your old red head as he has.”“Ret’s a ferry coot colour for a het,” grumbled Scoodrach, who was very sore, and who kept on gently rubbing the spot where he had given himself “such a ding.”“Good-bye!” cried Max. “I’ll get back as soon as I can.”“That’s right. Don’t go to my father. Tell old Tavish and Long Shon, and they’re to bring a strong rope.”“Yes; I won’t forget.”“And steer with one hand, and hold the sheet in the other,” cried Kenneth. “Don’t do as I did. Good-bye, old chap; you’re not a bad fellow after all.”“Oh, if I was only as strong and as clever as they are!” said Max to himself. “Well, what is it?”This was to Sneeshing, who stood barking at him sharply, and then ran back to crouch on the edge of the precipice, where he could peer down at his master and at Scoodrach, who was still chafing his arm.Max half wondered at himself, as, in his excitement, he slid and scrambled down the steep gully, getting over places and making bounds which he dared not have attempted half an hour earlier. The consequence was that he got down to the shore in a way which surprised himself, and then scrambled over the debris of fallen rocks to where the rope secured the boat to the stone.It was no easy task to undo Scood’s knot, but he worked at it, and, as he did so, wondered whether it was possible to make use of the cordage of the boat to take up and let down to the imprisoned pair, but he was fain to confess that, even doubled, there was nothing sufficiently trustworthy for the purpose; and, after throwing in the line, he gave the boat a good thrust as he leaped aboard, and then, as it glided out, found himself in a position which made his heart beat, as he wondered whether he would ever get safe to land.Trying to recall the action of Scoodrach at starting, he seized the rope and began to haul upon the yard, to find, to his great delight, that it rose steadily and well, the line running quite easily through the block till the gaff was pretty well in its place, and the sail gave a flap which startled him and made the boat careen.Then he stopped short, hardly knowing what to do next, but the right idea came, and he made the rope fast, crept back cautiously over the thwart to seat himself by the tiller, and, almost to his wonder, found that the boat was running easily along.Taking the handle of the tiller and the sheet, he drew a breath of relief, for the whole business was easier than he expected, and already he was fifty yards from the face of the cliff, and gaining speed, when he heard a hail.“Max! Ahoy!”He looked sharply round and up, to see Kenneth waving his glengarry; and his next words sounded faint in the great space:“Starboard! starboard! Going wrong.”To put his helm to starboard was so much Arabic to Max, but he had turned the handle in one direction, and he was going wrong, so he felt that to turn it the other way must be right. Pressing hard, then, he found that what he did had the effect of turning the boat half round, and making it go more slowly and diagonally in the direction from which the wind blew, and somewhat more toward the shelf where his friends were imprisoned, so that he could see them waving their caps, as moment by moment they seemed more distant.And now, for the first time, as he caught sight of a pile of ruins far away to his right, he realised that he had been going away from Dunroe, which lay to the south, while now he was sailing south-east; and his spirits rose as he felt that he must be right in trying to reach that castle, which he remembered as being one that Kenneth had pointed out.He turned his head again in the direction of the shelf, and there, high up, were the two boys, still waving their caps, either by way of encouragement or to try and give him advice by signs. But he could not tell which, neither could he signal in turn, for both hands were full; so, setting his teeth, and with a wonderful feeling of exhilaration and excitement, at which he was surprised, he devoted himself to his task.

For a few moments Max Blande stood as if petrified, and those moments were like an hour, while the thought flashed through him of what must be going on below, where he seemed to see Kenneth gazing down in horror at the shapeless form of Scoodrach lying unrecognisable on the rocks below.

All feeling of dread on his own behalf was gone now; and, as soon as the first shock was over, he tore himself free of the snake-like rope, and stepped to the edge of the cliff, to gaze down with dilated eyes.

“Well, you’ve done it now!” saluted him as he strained over the edge to look below, where Kenneth, instead of looking down, was looking up, while Scood was lying on the shelf of rock, rubbing himself with a hand that was bleeding freely.

“Is—is he killed?” faltered Max, whose lips formed the question he had been about to ask before he saw the gillie lying there.

“Do you hear, Scood? Are you killed?” said Kenneth coolly.

“Is she kilt? Na, she isna kilt,” cried Scoodrach, with a savage snarl, which was answered by a furious fit of barking from the terrier, as he too looked down. “Hech, but this is the hartest stane! She’s gien hersel’ a dreadful ding.”

“Then you are both safe?” cried Max joyfully.

“Oh yes, quite safe, Max. Locked up tight. Did you cut the rope?”

“Cut the rope? No, I didn’t touch it. Why did it break?”

“I say, Scoody, why did the rope break?”

“Oh, she’s a pad rotten old rope, an’ she’ll burn her as soon as she gets up again. But what a ding I gave my airm!”

“That’s it, Max; the rope was rotten. Can you tie it together if we throw it up to you?”

“Na,” shouted Scoodrach; “she couldna tie it together, and she couldna throw it up.”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t tie it tight enough,” faltered Max; “but if I could, it would not bear you.”

“It would have to bear us. We can’t stop down here. I say, Scoody, think we could climb up?”

Scoodrach shook his head.

“Well, then, can we get down?”

“If she could get up or doon without a rope, the hawks wouldn’t have built their nest.”

“That sounds like good logic, Max,” cried Kenneth, “so you had better let yourself over till you can hang by your hands, and then drop, and we’ll catch you.”

“What?”

“You wouldn’t hurt yourself so much as Scoody did, because we can both help you. He nearly went right over, and dragged me with him.”

“Oh!” ejaculated Max, with a shudder.

“Well, are you coming?”

“No! Impossible! What for?”

“To keep us company for a week or two, till somebody sees us. Hallo, Sneeshing! Good dog, then! Come down, we want you. Hooray, Scoody! dog for dinner! enough for three days. Then the young falcons will do for another day. Well, are you coming?”

“Oh, Kenneth,” cried Max, “you’re making fun again. What shall we do?”

“You mean, what shall we do? You’re all right. But you had better lower down the gun, and then I can shoot Scoody decently, when Sneeshing and the young hawks are done!”

“Oh, pray be serious!”

“I am. It’s a serious position. We mustn’t trust the rope again—eh, Scoody?”

“Na! Oh, what a ding she gave her airm!”

“Bother your arm!” cried Kenneth. “Here, Max, what’s to be done?”

“I’ll run back and tell them at Dunroe.”

“Ah, to be sure, that’s the way! but I didn’t know you could run across the loch.”

Max’s jaw dropped, and he gave his companions a helpless stare.

“I forgot the loch,” he said. “What shall I do? Where’s the nearest house?”

“Across the loch.”

“Are there none this side?”

“There’s a keeper’s lodge ten miles away, on the other side of the mountain.”

“I’ll run all the way there!” cried Max eagerly. “Tell me the way.”

“Well, you go right north, straight over the mountain, and whenever you come to a bog, you stick in it. Then you lose your way every now and then, and get benighted, and there you are.”

“You’re laughing at me again,” cried Max in agony; “and I want to help you.”

“Well, I want you to help us, old chap, for we’re in a regular mess, and perhaps the hawks’ll come and pick our eyes out to feed the young ones.”

“There, now, you’re laughing at me again!” cried Max. “I can’t help being so ignorant of your ways.”

“Of course you can’t, Maxy. Well, look here, old chap, you can’t get over the mountain without some one to show you the way.”

“Na; she’d lose hersel’,” cried Scoodrach. “Oh, what a ding she did give—”

“Bother your old airm, Scoody! do be quiet. Look here, Max: now, seriously, unless a yacht comes by, there’s no chance of help, and just because we want a yacht to come by, there won’t be one for a week.”

“Then what shall I do?”

“Well, there’s only one thing you can do.”

“Yes? quick, tell me!”

“Go down to the boat and hoist the sail, and run back to Dunroe.”

“But I couldn’t manage her.”

“All right, then. Let’s all set to work and make our wills before we’re starved to death. No, I tell you what: you’ve got the gun; you’ll have to go shooting, and drop the birds over to us. You’re a good shot, aren’t you?”

Max was silent.

“Well, why don’t you speak? Look here, take the gun and shoot a hare. You’ll find one somewhere. Got any matches?”

“Yes, I have a little silver box of wax-lights.”

“That’s your sort! Then you can light a fire of heath and peat, and cook it, and drop it down, and we can eat it.”

“But, as Mrs Glasse said in her cookery-book, ‘First catch your hare.’”

“Why, you don’t mean to say you couldn’t shoot a hare?” cried Kenneth.

“She couldna shoot a hare,” grumbled Scoodrach, rubbing his arm; and then, after looking very thoughtful and nervous, Max spoke out.

“I am going down to the boat,” he said quietly; “and I shall try and set the sail, and go back to Dunroe.”

“Bravo! hooray!” cried Kenneth. “That’s your sort; only the wind isn’t quite right, and you’ll have to tack.”

“To tack what—the sail?”

“No, no, I don’t mean nail the sail to the mast.”

“Oh, I remember; go backwards and forwards with the boat.”

“There, Scoody!” cried Kenneth triumphantly; “I only wish you had got as much brains in your old red head as he has.”

“Ret’s a ferry coot colour for a het,” grumbled Scoodrach, who was very sore, and who kept on gently rubbing the spot where he had given himself “such a ding.”

“Good-bye!” cried Max. “I’ll get back as soon as I can.”

“That’s right. Don’t go to my father. Tell old Tavish and Long Shon, and they’re to bring a strong rope.”

“Yes; I won’t forget.”

“And steer with one hand, and hold the sheet in the other,” cried Kenneth. “Don’t do as I did. Good-bye, old chap; you’re not a bad fellow after all.”

“Oh, if I was only as strong and as clever as they are!” said Max to himself. “Well, what is it?”

This was to Sneeshing, who stood barking at him sharply, and then ran back to crouch on the edge of the precipice, where he could peer down at his master and at Scoodrach, who was still chafing his arm.

Max half wondered at himself, as, in his excitement, he slid and scrambled down the steep gully, getting over places and making bounds which he dared not have attempted half an hour earlier. The consequence was that he got down to the shore in a way which surprised himself, and then scrambled over the debris of fallen rocks to where the rope secured the boat to the stone.

It was no easy task to undo Scood’s knot, but he worked at it, and, as he did so, wondered whether it was possible to make use of the cordage of the boat to take up and let down to the imprisoned pair, but he was fain to confess that, even doubled, there was nothing sufficiently trustworthy for the purpose; and, after throwing in the line, he gave the boat a good thrust as he leaped aboard, and then, as it glided out, found himself in a position which made his heart beat, as he wondered whether he would ever get safe to land.

Trying to recall the action of Scoodrach at starting, he seized the rope and began to haul upon the yard, to find, to his great delight, that it rose steadily and well, the line running quite easily through the block till the gaff was pretty well in its place, and the sail gave a flap which startled him and made the boat careen.

Then he stopped short, hardly knowing what to do next, but the right idea came, and he made the rope fast, crept back cautiously over the thwart to seat himself by the tiller, and, almost to his wonder, found that the boat was running easily along.

Taking the handle of the tiller and the sheet, he drew a breath of relief, for the whole business was easier than he expected, and already he was fifty yards from the face of the cliff, and gaining speed, when he heard a hail.

“Max! Ahoy!”

He looked sharply round and up, to see Kenneth waving his glengarry; and his next words sounded faint in the great space:

“Starboard! starboard! Going wrong.”

To put his helm to starboard was so much Arabic to Max, but he had turned the handle in one direction, and he was going wrong, so he felt that to turn it the other way must be right. Pressing hard, then, he found that what he did had the effect of turning the boat half round, and making it go more slowly and diagonally in the direction from which the wind blew, and somewhat more toward the shelf where his friends were imprisoned, so that he could see them waving their caps, as moment by moment they seemed more distant.

And now, for the first time, as he caught sight of a pile of ruins far away to his right, he realised that he had been going away from Dunroe, which lay to the south, while now he was sailing south-east; and his spirits rose as he felt that he must be right in trying to reach that castle, which he remembered as being one that Kenneth had pointed out.

He turned his head again in the direction of the shelf, and there, high up, were the two boys, still waving their caps, either by way of encouragement or to try and give him advice by signs. But he could not tell which, neither could he signal in turn, for both hands were full; so, setting his teeth, and with a wonderful feeling of exhilaration and excitement, at which he was surprised, he devoted himself to his task.

Chapter Seventeen.A Terrible Journey.Bailing a boat is like most other things, it has to be learned, and it is a puzzling thing to grasp the meaning of the way in which it seems to act.To sit and hold the rudder and go right away with the wind dead astern is not so difficult, but to try and sail a boat with the wind almost in your teeth, is, at the first time of asking, rather a strain upon the unaccustomed mind. The first thing which Max discovered was that, as soon as the sail was up, the boat seemed to try to take, so to speak, the bit in its teeth and run off to the north; the next, that he held in the tiller whip, spur, reins, everything for governing this strangely-mobile creature, and at the hint from Kenneth he had changed its course.But now, as it could not go north, the boat seemed to be trying to go due east, and, with the sail well filled and careening over, she literally rushed through the water, which sparkled in her wake.“But he said I must tack,” thought Max. “Why not try and sail straight away?”He tried to do this by turning the tiller more and more, but as he did so the speed of the boat grew less and less, and finally she stood still, with the sail shivering, and when he gave the sheet a shake, the sail gradually filled on the other side; the boat’s head swung round, and he found that he was rushing due west, straight for the cliff upon which Kenneth and Scoodrach were watching his course.For a few moments Max lost his head—metaphorically, of course, and not Carlistically. He sat, tiller in hand, gazing aghast at the great wall of rock with the ruggeddébrisof fallen masses at the bottom, upon which in a very few minutes the boat would rush with a sharp crash, and then, mistily and in a chaotic manner, he realised that there would be a miniature wreck, similar on a small scale to those of which he had so often read in the papers.“What shall I do?” he gasped; and he gazed away to the right, at where he could see the two boys upon their shelf, too far away for their voices to be heard.There was no help or advice to be had, so he was thrown back upon his own brain for the very best help there is in the world—self-help; and, making a bold grasp, as it was hovering in a mist, he caught his lost head again, and held it tightly.As he did this, he recalled that he held the guiding principle of the boat in his hand, pressed the tiller hard, and, to his great delight, the little vessel made a beautiful curve, ran right up in the wind, the sail flapped and shivered, there came a puff of wind that seemed to be reflected from the tall cliff, the sail filled on the other side, the boat careened over, and away he was rushing right merrily again.It was none too soon, for, as the boat curved round, he was within forty yards of some black rocks, whose weed-hung heads were just level with the water.But in those few minutes he had gained one splendid bit of experience in the management of a boat, namely, that he had but to keep his head and be cool, and then he could guide the craft wherever he pleased.His spirits rose at this, as the little vessel glided rapidly on, now toward the west, and he knew that when he was close to the far side of the loch he had but to reverse the action with the rudder, and turn and come back.There was a beautiful breeze, and he span along, his face flushed, eyes sparkling, and his heart beating fast with excitement. It was most enjoyable. He could manage the boat,—so he thought,—but by degrees he began to grasp the fact that if he kept on he would be going to and fro over the same water, and he wanted to go due south, and not east and west.Then came back what Kenneth had said about tacking, and by degrees he more fully mastered what he had to learn, namely, that he must use the rudder, and force the boat to go south-east instead of east, and, in returning, south-west instead of west, so as to cross and recross the loch diagonally, or in a zigzag course, so that at each tack he would be farther south.To his great delight, he found, by keeping a firm hand upon the rudder, he could do this, but it proved to be such slow work that he began to experimentalise a little more, and, instead of sailing south-east and south-west, he contrived to keep the boat’s head so that he sailed south-south-east and south-south-west. Later on, when with the two lads, and Scoodrach at the tiller, he found that, had he known, he could have made more southing each tack, for the little boat could sail wonderfully close to the wind.It was still slow work to one who was effervescing with eagerness to reach Dunroe and obtain help, and over and over again, as the distance seemed so long, Max shivered with dread lest he should have overshot the mark and passed the place.It seemed impossible that they could have gone so far. But no; there was the castle which they had passed on the right, and there was the other that they had glided by on the left—now, of course, with the positions reversed. So, gaining confidence, and feeling wonderfully self-satisfied at the way he could sail a boat, he sped on.Fortunately for him, the breeze was just perfect and as steady as could be, and he knew nothing of the risks to which he was exposed. He sailed on by narrow gorge and ravine—openings in the great hills—in profound ignorance of the fact that through any of these a violent squall of wind might come with a whistle and shriek, catch the sail and lay it flat upon the water, while the boat filled and went down.Then, too, he was happily ignorant of the sets of the tide and the wild currents which raced through some of the channels, and of the hundreds of rocks which lay below the surface, ready to catch the keel or rip open the thin planks of a boat.Max saw none of these dangers,—he did not even dream of them,—but sat with flushed face, gazing onward, as he skimmed in exhilarating motion over the sunny sea.“I do like sailing,” he said to himself, in spite of the hand which held the sheet, at which the sail snatched and tugged, beginning to ache, and the other which grasped the rudder feeling numb. For the moment, too, he forgot that the sun did not always shine, and that the sea rose angrily, and that there were such things as storms.All went quite smoothly, however, for about three parts of the distance, when all at once a peculiar washing sound reached his ears; and, gazing in the direction from which it came, he became aware of the fact that there was some water in the bottom of the boat, gliding here and there as the little vessel gave to the pressure of the wind.He paid no heed to it at first, only thinking that the boat must be a little leaky, and knowing that he ought by rights to seek forward a little tin can and bale the water out.But the management of the sail and rudder fully occupied him till he made the next tack, when it struck him that the quantity of water had certainly increased, as it ran over to the other side.But still it caused him no uneasiness. He only felt that before long he might have wet feet, and he kept on looking out ahead for Dunroe.At the next tack, there was undoubtedly a good deal more water, and the bottom boards of the boat kept rising, one going so far as to set sail on a little voyage of its own, and floating about.What was to be done?—to throw the boat up in the wind, and stop and bale, or to sail on as fast as he could, and get to Dunroe?Thinking that the water did not much matter, he kept on sailing tack after tack, till the water increased so much that it brought with it a chill of horror as well as cold; for there could be no mistake in the fact that the weight of water in the boat interfered largely with its progress, and Max felt that if he delayed baling much longer she might fill and sink.He hesitated for a moment or two, and then tried to turn the boat’s head so as to meet the wind. In this he succeeded, and, as the sail shivered and flapped, he looked for the tin baler. This he did not find, because in his excitement he forgot to look in the right place, so in his flurry he took off his cap and set to work with that, dipping and pouring the water over the side. A tiring job at the best of times, and with proper implements; wearisome in the extreme with no better baler than a cap; but Max made up in perseverance what was wanting in skill, and before very long he had satisfied himself, by comparison with some paint-marks, that the water was not gaining.At the same time he did not feel that he was reducing it much; and the difficulty stared him in the face that he could not keep on baling and make progress too.Taking out his knife, he made a scratch at the level of the water, and, once more taking the helm, the boat gracefully bent over and sped on.The journey now grew tediously laborious. The afternoon was passing, and it seemed to Max that he would never reach Dunroe; for at every tack he paused to examine his mark, and found that the water had gained, so that he was compelled to stop and bale once more.He looked for the leak, but it was invisible. All he could make out was that it must be somewhere under the boards laid in the bottom of the boat.For quite a couple of hours did this go on, with the water still increasing, and Dunroe appeared to be as far off as ever; while the lad’s task was Sisyphean, since, as fast as he baled the water out, it seemed to return.There was something else, too, for him to combat. At first he had worked with plenty of spirit, but after many repetitions of the task a deadly sense of fatigue began to grow upon him, and as it affected his body, so it did his mind, till it seemed as if a great black cloud were appearing. Despair rode upon that cloud, and, as he worked, his face burned, but his heart chilled, and in imagination he saw himself sinking helplessly, when his arms should fall down to his sides, and he could do no more.The result was that he baled with less effect, and instead of keeping the water under, it began to master him; and he found at last, that, in spite of all his efforts, his knife-mark was covered, and the water kept inches above, and still increased.

Bailing a boat is like most other things, it has to be learned, and it is a puzzling thing to grasp the meaning of the way in which it seems to act.

To sit and hold the rudder and go right away with the wind dead astern is not so difficult, but to try and sail a boat with the wind almost in your teeth, is, at the first time of asking, rather a strain upon the unaccustomed mind. The first thing which Max discovered was that, as soon as the sail was up, the boat seemed to try to take, so to speak, the bit in its teeth and run off to the north; the next, that he held in the tiller whip, spur, reins, everything for governing this strangely-mobile creature, and at the hint from Kenneth he had changed its course.

But now, as it could not go north, the boat seemed to be trying to go due east, and, with the sail well filled and careening over, she literally rushed through the water, which sparkled in her wake.

“But he said I must tack,” thought Max. “Why not try and sail straight away?”

He tried to do this by turning the tiller more and more, but as he did so the speed of the boat grew less and less, and finally she stood still, with the sail shivering, and when he gave the sheet a shake, the sail gradually filled on the other side; the boat’s head swung round, and he found that he was rushing due west, straight for the cliff upon which Kenneth and Scoodrach were watching his course.

For a few moments Max lost his head—metaphorically, of course, and not Carlistically. He sat, tiller in hand, gazing aghast at the great wall of rock with the ruggeddébrisof fallen masses at the bottom, upon which in a very few minutes the boat would rush with a sharp crash, and then, mistily and in a chaotic manner, he realised that there would be a miniature wreck, similar on a small scale to those of which he had so often read in the papers.

“What shall I do?” he gasped; and he gazed away to the right, at where he could see the two boys upon their shelf, too far away for their voices to be heard.

There was no help or advice to be had, so he was thrown back upon his own brain for the very best help there is in the world—self-help; and, making a bold grasp, as it was hovering in a mist, he caught his lost head again, and held it tightly.

As he did this, he recalled that he held the guiding principle of the boat in his hand, pressed the tiller hard, and, to his great delight, the little vessel made a beautiful curve, ran right up in the wind, the sail flapped and shivered, there came a puff of wind that seemed to be reflected from the tall cliff, the sail filled on the other side, the boat careened over, and away he was rushing right merrily again.

It was none too soon, for, as the boat curved round, he was within forty yards of some black rocks, whose weed-hung heads were just level with the water.

But in those few minutes he had gained one splendid bit of experience in the management of a boat, namely, that he had but to keep his head and be cool, and then he could guide the craft wherever he pleased.

His spirits rose at this, as the little vessel glided rapidly on, now toward the west, and he knew that when he was close to the far side of the loch he had but to reverse the action with the rudder, and turn and come back.

There was a beautiful breeze, and he span along, his face flushed, eyes sparkling, and his heart beating fast with excitement. It was most enjoyable. He could manage the boat,—so he thought,—but by degrees he began to grasp the fact that if he kept on he would be going to and fro over the same water, and he wanted to go due south, and not east and west.

Then came back what Kenneth had said about tacking, and by degrees he more fully mastered what he had to learn, namely, that he must use the rudder, and force the boat to go south-east instead of east, and, in returning, south-west instead of west, so as to cross and recross the loch diagonally, or in a zigzag course, so that at each tack he would be farther south.

To his great delight, he found, by keeping a firm hand upon the rudder, he could do this, but it proved to be such slow work that he began to experimentalise a little more, and, instead of sailing south-east and south-west, he contrived to keep the boat’s head so that he sailed south-south-east and south-south-west. Later on, when with the two lads, and Scoodrach at the tiller, he found that, had he known, he could have made more southing each tack, for the little boat could sail wonderfully close to the wind.

It was still slow work to one who was effervescing with eagerness to reach Dunroe and obtain help, and over and over again, as the distance seemed so long, Max shivered with dread lest he should have overshot the mark and passed the place.

It seemed impossible that they could have gone so far. But no; there was the castle which they had passed on the right, and there was the other that they had glided by on the left—now, of course, with the positions reversed. So, gaining confidence, and feeling wonderfully self-satisfied at the way he could sail a boat, he sped on.

Fortunately for him, the breeze was just perfect and as steady as could be, and he knew nothing of the risks to which he was exposed. He sailed on by narrow gorge and ravine—openings in the great hills—in profound ignorance of the fact that through any of these a violent squall of wind might come with a whistle and shriek, catch the sail and lay it flat upon the water, while the boat filled and went down.

Then, too, he was happily ignorant of the sets of the tide and the wild currents which raced through some of the channels, and of the hundreds of rocks which lay below the surface, ready to catch the keel or rip open the thin planks of a boat.

Max saw none of these dangers,—he did not even dream of them,—but sat with flushed face, gazing onward, as he skimmed in exhilarating motion over the sunny sea.

“I do like sailing,” he said to himself, in spite of the hand which held the sheet, at which the sail snatched and tugged, beginning to ache, and the other which grasped the rudder feeling numb. For the moment, too, he forgot that the sun did not always shine, and that the sea rose angrily, and that there were such things as storms.

All went quite smoothly, however, for about three parts of the distance, when all at once a peculiar washing sound reached his ears; and, gazing in the direction from which it came, he became aware of the fact that there was some water in the bottom of the boat, gliding here and there as the little vessel gave to the pressure of the wind.

He paid no heed to it at first, only thinking that the boat must be a little leaky, and knowing that he ought by rights to seek forward a little tin can and bale the water out.

But the management of the sail and rudder fully occupied him till he made the next tack, when it struck him that the quantity of water had certainly increased, as it ran over to the other side.

But still it caused him no uneasiness. He only felt that before long he might have wet feet, and he kept on looking out ahead for Dunroe.

At the next tack, there was undoubtedly a good deal more water, and the bottom boards of the boat kept rising, one going so far as to set sail on a little voyage of its own, and floating about.

What was to be done?—to throw the boat up in the wind, and stop and bale, or to sail on as fast as he could, and get to Dunroe?

Thinking that the water did not much matter, he kept on sailing tack after tack, till the water increased so much that it brought with it a chill of horror as well as cold; for there could be no mistake in the fact that the weight of water in the boat interfered largely with its progress, and Max felt that if he delayed baling much longer she might fill and sink.

He hesitated for a moment or two, and then tried to turn the boat’s head so as to meet the wind. In this he succeeded, and, as the sail shivered and flapped, he looked for the tin baler. This he did not find, because in his excitement he forgot to look in the right place, so in his flurry he took off his cap and set to work with that, dipping and pouring the water over the side. A tiring job at the best of times, and with proper implements; wearisome in the extreme with no better baler than a cap; but Max made up in perseverance what was wanting in skill, and before very long he had satisfied himself, by comparison with some paint-marks, that the water was not gaining.

At the same time he did not feel that he was reducing it much; and the difficulty stared him in the face that he could not keep on baling and make progress too.

Taking out his knife, he made a scratch at the level of the water, and, once more taking the helm, the boat gracefully bent over and sped on.

The journey now grew tediously laborious. The afternoon was passing, and it seemed to Max that he would never reach Dunroe; for at every tack he paused to examine his mark, and found that the water had gained, so that he was compelled to stop and bale once more.

He looked for the leak, but it was invisible. All he could make out was that it must be somewhere under the boards laid in the bottom of the boat.

For quite a couple of hours did this go on, with the water still increasing, and Dunroe appeared to be as far off as ever; while the lad’s task was Sisyphean, since, as fast as he baled the water out, it seemed to return.

There was something else, too, for him to combat. At first he had worked with plenty of spirit, but after many repetitions of the task a deadly sense of fatigue began to grow upon him, and as it affected his body, so it did his mind, till it seemed as if a great black cloud were appearing. Despair rode upon that cloud, and, as he worked, his face burned, but his heart chilled, and in imagination he saw himself sinking helplessly, when his arms should fall down to his sides, and he could do no more.

The result was that he baled with less effect, and instead of keeping the water under, it began to master him; and he found at last, that, in spite of all his efforts, his knife-mark was covered, and the water kept inches above, and still increased.

Chapter Eighteen.How Max fetched Help.Max Blande’s confidence was on the ebb. Fortunately for him, the tide was on the ebb as well, and, though he was not aware of the fact, helping him on his journey.As the confidence failed, despair’s black cloud grew heavy. The idea that the leak was growing bigger became stronger, and with it was the feeling that before long the water would come in with a rush, and down he would go.It was very horrible; and, as he asked himself what he must do, he clutched at the first idea suggesting escape which came, and that was, that, much as he regretted being unable to get help for his two companions in misfortune, he must save his own life, and the only way to do that was by running the boat ashore. Which side of the loch should he take—west or east?Dunroe was on the east side, but the west coast was nearer, and he steered for that; but, feeling that this was cowardly, since he might get ashore and manage to walk to Dunroe, he altered his course, after a struggle with self, and sat with beating heart, slowly sailing on, with the water rising and washing about his legs.That last tack seemed as if it would never end, and it was only by leaning sideways from time to time that he could catch sight of the coast he was approaching, the sail shutting off the greater part of his view.To his dismay, he could see nothing but rocks, rocks everywhere, grey, and black, and ruddy golden with the weeds. The sea, too, foamed and danced about them. No cove floored with silver sand, no smooth river into which he could glide; and he shivered as he felt, by anticipation, the crash of the boat running on to the rocks at speed, throwing him out, and the retiring waves bearing him away, and then?It was too horrible. But there were the rocks; he was getting nearer and nearer. He could hear the splashing of the water, and he must be ready to make a bold leap on to the nearest before the waves could catch him, and then he might escape.Nearer and nearer; and it seemed a desperate thing to do—to run that boat ashore, but it was his only chance, for she was sinking fast, he was sure.Nearer and nearer. A few more minutes, and he would be ashore, and—He suddenly wrenched the tiller round, the boat ran up into the wind, careened over, and bore away on the other tack.From Max Blande’s cowardice?No; the sail had sprung aside for a moment, as his doubting hand had given way a little, slightly altering his course; and, as he gazed wildly ahead, there, half covered by the swelling canvas, and not a quarter of a mile away, the old castle of Dunroe towered up on its bold base of storm-beaten rock.“Will the boat float long enough for me to get there?” Max asked himself.He decided to try, and now came the most difficult part of the steering he had encountered that day, and it was not until he had made three or four attempts that he lowered the sail, about fifty yards from the rocky natural pier from which they had started, and, to his great delight, saw Long Shon and Tavish watching him, and, after a consultation, run round to the little bay, out of which they came rowing in a dinghy.“Wha’s ta young maister?” cried Tavish fiercely.“Wha’s Scood?” cried Long Shon.Max hurriedly explained.“Ma cootness!” exclaimed Tavish; “she tought they was poth trooned.”“Why, ta poat’s full o’ watter!” cried Long Shon.“Yes; she is leaking and sinking fast.”“Ma cootness!” cried Tavish, getting in, to Max’s horror.“Don’t! you’ll sink her. Let me get out.”“Na, na. Why tidn’t you bale ta watter oot?”“I did, but it was no use.”Tavish gave a snort, opened the locker in the bows, and then began to toss out the water like a jerky cascade, Max watching him wildly, but, to his great relief, seeing the water begin gradually to sink.“She’s knockit a creat hole in her pottom,” said Long Shon. “Tit she hit on ta rocks?”“No, no; it came on all of a sudden.”“Why, she’s cot ta cork oot!” cried Tavish, drawing his sleeve up above his elbow, and thrusting his arm down to lift one of the bottom boards beneath the centre thwart, and feeling about for a few moments before turning reproachfully to Max.“She shouldna pull oot ta cork.”“No,” said Long Shon. “She pulls oot ta cork to let ta watter oot. She’s pulled oot ta cork to let ta watter in.”Tavish growled as he recommenced baling, and then smiled at Max.“I did not touch it. I did not know there was a cork,” said the latter rather piteously.“Then she must ha’ come out hersel’,” said Tavish. “Ye’ll know next time what to do.”“And she sailed pack all py herself?” said Long Shon.“Yes. But do make haste. They will think me so long.”“Let’s ket the watter oot,” said Tavish. “You, Shon, ket the rope oot o’ the poat-hoose; or shall she leave ta poys till to-morrow?”“What! leave them all night?” cried Max in horror.The great forester chuckled as he looked up at Max, and kept on baling away, while Long Shon rowed ashore.“Na; she’ll go ant fetch ’em. So ta crapnel line proke?”“Yes.”“She must ha’ peen ferry pad.”“Yes, of course,” said Max, who sat there contentedly enough, but vexed as he found how his ignorance of a boat had caused him a couple of hours’ terror.Tavish toiled away with the baler till it would scoop up no more, and then, taking a great sponge from the locker, he sopped up and squeezed till the bottom of the boat was quite clear of water, and by this time, close down by the keel, Max had seen an ordinary wine-cork, with a piece of whipcord attached to it, stuck upright in the hole used for draining the boat when she was ashore.Then the bottom boards were replaced, and the forester passed an oar over the side, so as to paddle the boat up to the rock where Long Shon was waiting, with a ring of new-looking rope over his arm.“Wha’s ta Chief?” said Long Shon, as they came alongside.“Gane over ta hill.”“With his gun?”“Na; reading a pit latter.”“Ta Mackhai gane walking with a pit latter!” said Long Shon. “What’s coming to ta man?”Tavish shook his head, and looked serious. Then Long Shon stepped in, and the boat was thrust off.“She’ll pe ferry ancry when she finds we’re gane,” said the forester slowly. “Put we must go and fetch ta young Chief.”“Ant tit she ever sail a poat in the lochs in Lonton?” asked Long Shon, as the boat sped away rapidly, with the wind nearly dead astern.“There are no lochs in London,” replied Max, smiling.“Nae lochs!” exclaimed the two Highlanders in a breath.“No.”“Why, she thought Lonton wass a ferry fine place.”“So it is; full of great streets and shops.”“There’s ferry coot shops i’ Stirling,” said Long Shon proudly, “and so there is in Oban. She’ll pe pound there’s no petter shops in Lonton than there is in Oban. Put no lochs?”“No.”“I ton’t think she shall think much coot o’ Lonton, Tavish,” said Long Shon rather scornfully.“Put she shall have sailed a poat pefore?” said Tavish, staring hard at Max.“No, never. I was never in a boat alone before.”“She will never pe in a poat alone pefore!” said the forester. “Wonterful!”Long Shon looked as if he did not believe it.“Wonterful! It was wonterful!” said Tavish again. “She will come town here, and kill ta biggest fush; and she sails ta poat alone, and she shall kill a stag soon, and all ta hares and grouse.”“Why wass she not town py ta blue hawk’s nest wi’ ta poys?” said Long Shon suddenly and fiercely.“I was holding the anchor,” replied Max.“She wass holting ta anchor, Shon. She tolt her pefore.”“Put she ought to have peen wi’ ta poys!” cried Long Shon, giving the side of the boat a slap with his great hand. “She wass afraid.”“Yes,” said Max, flushing slightly, “I was afraid to go down. They did want me to go.”“Put ta poy Scoodrach wass never afraid,” cried Long Shon, looking hard at Max as if he had ill-used him.“Waugh!” ejaculated Tavish slowly, his voice sounding like the low, deep growl of some wild beast.“Ta Scoodrach wass never pe afraid,” cried Long Shon defiantly.“Waugh!” growled Tavish more loudly and deeply than before.“Ta Scoodrach wass never pe afraid,” cried Long Shon, striking the gunwale of the boat again, and his face flushed with anger.“Waugh!” roared Tavish; and the great forester’s beard seemed to bristle as he burst out into an angry speech in Gaelic, to which Long Shon kept on edging in a word or two in the same tongue, but only with the effect of making Tavish roar more loudly, till Long Shon seemed to give in, completely mastered by his big companion.What was said was a mystery to Max, but it sounded to him as if the big forester was taking his part, and crushing down Long Shon till the latter gave in, when Tavish’s face cleared, and his eyes smiled at Max, as he said,—“She shall not do like Maister Ken and Scoodrach, or ta poat could not come and say they are on the crag.”“No, of course not,” said Max confusedly, for he could hardly follow the great fellow’s meaning.Then, in comparative peace, the boat skimming rapidly over the smooth sea, they sped on, with Max wondering that the ride could be so different now that there was no danger, and he had the companionship of two strong men. But all the same he could not help feeling something like regret that he was no longer the crew and in full charge. He felt something like pride, too, in his exploit, and the day’s adventure had done more than he knew towards planting him in the high road to manhood.The castles were passed in what seemed a wonderfully short time, and the great wall of cliff loomed up on their left, but they had a long way to sail before Max suddenly exclaimed,—“I see them! Look! Kenneth is waving his cap.”“Na; it shall pe ta Scoodrach wi’ her ponnet.”Tavish uttered another low, menacing growl of a very leonine nature, and his eyes were flashing, but they softened into a smile as they encountered those of Max.A little while after, with the two boys on high cheering them as they passed, the boat was run into the little nook and fastened, Tavish taking the ring of rope and leaping ashore, followed by Max and Long Shon, who got over the rough rocks and up the gully in a wonderful way, hopping on to stones and off again—stones which Tavish took in one of his great strides and with the greatest ease.It was almost marvellous to Max to see the way in which the great forester made his way up the gully, so that he would have been at the top in half the time if he had not kept stopping to reach down his hand to the lad, who was at various places compelled to climb on all-fours.“She’ll do muckle petter soon,” he said, smiling. “Ta legs sail ket harter. Hey, but it’s a sair pity she does not wear ta kilt!”“She hasna got ta legs for ta kilt,” grumbled Long Shon, who was behind; and Max partly caught his words, and felt a curious sensation of annoyance at the disparaging remark.Five minutes later they were on the top, when Tavish went straight to the spot where the little anchor was forced in between the rocks, picked up the broken rope, and threw it down again, before stepping to the edge of the cliff and bending over.“She shouldna troost to a pit o’ line like that.”“How did I know it was going to break?” shouted Kenneth. “It bore me right enough. It was old Scoody here who was so heavy.”“Ta rope wasna fit to bear a dog,” grumbled Scoodrach. “Hech! she shall break ta rope wi’ Sneeshing.”The dog, which had been ready to jump up and greet the new-comers, ran at this, and looked down, and barked at the speaker, as if disputing his remark.“You are going to fasten the line to the anchor, aren’t you?” said Max.“Na,” growled Tavish. “She sail come up wi’out ta grapnel.”He threw the coil of rope on the grass, took the end, and made a loop thereon before lowering it down.“But you cannot bear him alone?”“The two,” said Tavish coolly, as he threw the coil back now out of his way.“Retty?” he cried.“Yes, all right!” shouted Kenneth; and, standing there at the very brink of the terrible precipice, Tavish bent down, and drew up the rope hand over hand till Scoodrach’s head appeared, and then the lad reached out, caught at Tavish’s arm, and swung easily on to the top of the cliff, when the rope was lowered again, and directly after drawn up till Kenneth’s head appeared, and he too swung himself on to the top, and stood laughing at Max, whose hands were uncomfortably damp.“Here we are!” he cried. “Thank ye, Tavvy. Why, where are the hawks, Scood?”“She prought ’em up herself.”“No, I didn’t. I left them for you to bring.”“She never told her to bring ta birds,” grumbled Scoodrach, in an ill-used tone.“I believe you went to sleep. I’ve a jolly good mind to pitch you overboard.”“She’s always saying she’ll pitch her overpoard.”“There, come along down,” said Long Shon.“No, I’m not going without my birds, Shonny,” cried Kenneth. “Here, Scood, go down and fetch ’em. No; if I send you down, you’ll go to sleep again, and forget them. Here, Tavvy, give us hold of the rope.”“She isna going town gain,” remonstrated the great Highlander.“Oh yes, she is.”“No, no, pray don’t venture again!” whispered Max.“What! and leave those two poor birds to starve? Not I. Here, Tav, hold tight.”The great forester stood by while Kenneth threw over some fifty feet of the rope, and then stood smiling grimly, while, in defiance of all advice, and trusting utterly to the strength of the gillie’s arms, Kenneth seized the rope, and let himself glide over the edge of the rock, dropping out of sight directly, while Max held his breath, as he saw the quivering of the forester’s arms as Kenneth slipped down.Then the movement ceased, and Max exclaimed excitedly,—“Is he down safely?”“Ou ay! she’s all right,” replied Tavish, as he gazed calmly down. “Come and look.”Max shook his head. He had had shocks enough to his nerves that day, and could bear no more.Long Shon, however, went to the edge, and stood looking down with a grim smile. Sneeshing did the same, and barked; while Scoodrach threw himself down, and lay on the edge of the cliff looking over.“Haul away!” came from below, and Tavish drew up a pair of coarse worsted stockings knotted together and tied to the rope.These were set at liberty, and, as they were placed upon a rock, there was a good deal of shuffling and movement inside, the occupants of the stockings trying first to ascend the legs, and then travelling back toward the toes, and remaining quiescent till there was the shadow cast by a bird, as it darted overhead, and a shrill cry, which seemed to set the young birds in a state of great excitement.“Oh, if I’d been up there!” shouted Kenneth from below. “What a chance for a shot!”“Retty, Maister Ken?”“Yes; haul away.”“Now, Scood, hang on, and heave her up,” cried Tavish.“She could choost pull her up wi’ ane han’,” said Long Shon scornfully.“Ay, but she’s a wunnerfu’ man,” said the forester coolly, and he half closed his eyes, and then passed the rope through his hands as Scood took hold and walked inward, as if he had harnessed himself, Sneeshing walking by his side, and seeming to take the deepest interest in all that was going on.A minute more, and Tavish had swung Kenneth on to the cliff, the birds were given to Scoodrach to carry, and the party descended the gully, laughing heartily at the adventure, which was talked over from all sides, and Max questioned and criticised about his sailing the boat, till they had reached within a tack of Dunroe, when Tavish said, in his broad dialect, and with one of his pleasant looks,—“She mustn’t mind what ta young Chief says. She sailed ta poat peautifully, only ta next tune she mustna pull oot ta cork.”“Eh, pull out the cork!” cried Kenneth sharply. “Why, you haven’t been at the whisky, Max? No; there was none on board.”“Na, na,” cried Tavish, “ta cork plug. She sailt in wi’ ta watter nearly up to her knees.”“Ay,” said Long Shon, gazing down at Max’s still wet trouser legs; “an’ aw’m thinking it shows ta creat ignorance o’ ta Southron folk, to baggie up her legs like tat, when a man might wear a kilt and niver get her legs wet at all.”“All right, Shonny. Mr Max is going to have one, with a plaid that’ll make your eyes ache. Now, Scoody, jump out, and take care of those hawks. Hooray, Max! just in time. There goes the gong.”

Max Blande’s confidence was on the ebb. Fortunately for him, the tide was on the ebb as well, and, though he was not aware of the fact, helping him on his journey.

As the confidence failed, despair’s black cloud grew heavy. The idea that the leak was growing bigger became stronger, and with it was the feeling that before long the water would come in with a rush, and down he would go.

It was very horrible; and, as he asked himself what he must do, he clutched at the first idea suggesting escape which came, and that was, that, much as he regretted being unable to get help for his two companions in misfortune, he must save his own life, and the only way to do that was by running the boat ashore. Which side of the loch should he take—west or east?

Dunroe was on the east side, but the west coast was nearer, and he steered for that; but, feeling that this was cowardly, since he might get ashore and manage to walk to Dunroe, he altered his course, after a struggle with self, and sat with beating heart, slowly sailing on, with the water rising and washing about his legs.

That last tack seemed as if it would never end, and it was only by leaning sideways from time to time that he could catch sight of the coast he was approaching, the sail shutting off the greater part of his view.

To his dismay, he could see nothing but rocks, rocks everywhere, grey, and black, and ruddy golden with the weeds. The sea, too, foamed and danced about them. No cove floored with silver sand, no smooth river into which he could glide; and he shivered as he felt, by anticipation, the crash of the boat running on to the rocks at speed, throwing him out, and the retiring waves bearing him away, and then?

It was too horrible. But there were the rocks; he was getting nearer and nearer. He could hear the splashing of the water, and he must be ready to make a bold leap on to the nearest before the waves could catch him, and then he might escape.

Nearer and nearer; and it seemed a desperate thing to do—to run that boat ashore, but it was his only chance, for she was sinking fast, he was sure.

Nearer and nearer. A few more minutes, and he would be ashore, and—

He suddenly wrenched the tiller round, the boat ran up into the wind, careened over, and bore away on the other tack.

From Max Blande’s cowardice?

No; the sail had sprung aside for a moment, as his doubting hand had given way a little, slightly altering his course; and, as he gazed wildly ahead, there, half covered by the swelling canvas, and not a quarter of a mile away, the old castle of Dunroe towered up on its bold base of storm-beaten rock.

“Will the boat float long enough for me to get there?” Max asked himself.

He decided to try, and now came the most difficult part of the steering he had encountered that day, and it was not until he had made three or four attempts that he lowered the sail, about fifty yards from the rocky natural pier from which they had started, and, to his great delight, saw Long Shon and Tavish watching him, and, after a consultation, run round to the little bay, out of which they came rowing in a dinghy.

“Wha’s ta young maister?” cried Tavish fiercely.

“Wha’s Scood?” cried Long Shon.

Max hurriedly explained.

“Ma cootness!” exclaimed Tavish; “she tought they was poth trooned.”

“Why, ta poat’s full o’ watter!” cried Long Shon.

“Yes; she is leaking and sinking fast.”

“Ma cootness!” cried Tavish, getting in, to Max’s horror.

“Don’t! you’ll sink her. Let me get out.”

“Na, na. Why tidn’t you bale ta watter oot?”

“I did, but it was no use.”

Tavish gave a snort, opened the locker in the bows, and then began to toss out the water like a jerky cascade, Max watching him wildly, but, to his great relief, seeing the water begin gradually to sink.

“She’s knockit a creat hole in her pottom,” said Long Shon. “Tit she hit on ta rocks?”

“No, no; it came on all of a sudden.”

“Why, she’s cot ta cork oot!” cried Tavish, drawing his sleeve up above his elbow, and thrusting his arm down to lift one of the bottom boards beneath the centre thwart, and feeling about for a few moments before turning reproachfully to Max.

“She shouldna pull oot ta cork.”

“No,” said Long Shon. “She pulls oot ta cork to let ta watter oot. She’s pulled oot ta cork to let ta watter in.”

Tavish growled as he recommenced baling, and then smiled at Max.

“I did not touch it. I did not know there was a cork,” said the latter rather piteously.

“Then she must ha’ come out hersel’,” said Tavish. “Ye’ll know next time what to do.”

“And she sailed pack all py herself?” said Long Shon.

“Yes. But do make haste. They will think me so long.”

“Let’s ket the watter oot,” said Tavish. “You, Shon, ket the rope oot o’ the poat-hoose; or shall she leave ta poys till to-morrow?”

“What! leave them all night?” cried Max in horror.

The great forester chuckled as he looked up at Max, and kept on baling away, while Long Shon rowed ashore.

“Na; she’ll go ant fetch ’em. So ta crapnel line proke?”

“Yes.”

“She must ha’ peen ferry pad.”

“Yes, of course,” said Max, who sat there contentedly enough, but vexed as he found how his ignorance of a boat had caused him a couple of hours’ terror.

Tavish toiled away with the baler till it would scoop up no more, and then, taking a great sponge from the locker, he sopped up and squeezed till the bottom of the boat was quite clear of water, and by this time, close down by the keel, Max had seen an ordinary wine-cork, with a piece of whipcord attached to it, stuck upright in the hole used for draining the boat when she was ashore.

Then the bottom boards were replaced, and the forester passed an oar over the side, so as to paddle the boat up to the rock where Long Shon was waiting, with a ring of new-looking rope over his arm.

“Wha’s ta Chief?” said Long Shon, as they came alongside.

“Gane over ta hill.”

“With his gun?”

“Na; reading a pit latter.”

“Ta Mackhai gane walking with a pit latter!” said Long Shon. “What’s coming to ta man?”

Tavish shook his head, and looked serious. Then Long Shon stepped in, and the boat was thrust off.

“She’ll pe ferry ancry when she finds we’re gane,” said the forester slowly. “Put we must go and fetch ta young Chief.”

“Ant tit she ever sail a poat in the lochs in Lonton?” asked Long Shon, as the boat sped away rapidly, with the wind nearly dead astern.

“There are no lochs in London,” replied Max, smiling.

“Nae lochs!” exclaimed the two Highlanders in a breath.

“No.”

“Why, she thought Lonton wass a ferry fine place.”

“So it is; full of great streets and shops.”

“There’s ferry coot shops i’ Stirling,” said Long Shon proudly, “and so there is in Oban. She’ll pe pound there’s no petter shops in Lonton than there is in Oban. Put no lochs?”

“No.”

“I ton’t think she shall think much coot o’ Lonton, Tavish,” said Long Shon rather scornfully.

“Put she shall have sailed a poat pefore?” said Tavish, staring hard at Max.

“No, never. I was never in a boat alone before.”

“She will never pe in a poat alone pefore!” said the forester. “Wonterful!”

Long Shon looked as if he did not believe it.

“Wonterful! It was wonterful!” said Tavish again. “She will come town here, and kill ta biggest fush; and she sails ta poat alone, and she shall kill a stag soon, and all ta hares and grouse.”

“Why wass she not town py ta blue hawk’s nest wi’ ta poys?” said Long Shon suddenly and fiercely.

“I was holding the anchor,” replied Max.

“She wass holting ta anchor, Shon. She tolt her pefore.”

“Put she ought to have peen wi’ ta poys!” cried Long Shon, giving the side of the boat a slap with his great hand. “She wass afraid.”

“Yes,” said Max, flushing slightly, “I was afraid to go down. They did want me to go.”

“Put ta poy Scoodrach wass never afraid,” cried Long Shon, looking hard at Max as if he had ill-used him.

“Waugh!” ejaculated Tavish slowly, his voice sounding like the low, deep growl of some wild beast.

“Ta Scoodrach wass never pe afraid,” cried Long Shon defiantly.

“Waugh!” growled Tavish more loudly and deeply than before.

“Ta Scoodrach wass never pe afraid,” cried Long Shon, striking the gunwale of the boat again, and his face flushed with anger.

“Waugh!” roared Tavish; and the great forester’s beard seemed to bristle as he burst out into an angry speech in Gaelic, to which Long Shon kept on edging in a word or two in the same tongue, but only with the effect of making Tavish roar more loudly, till Long Shon seemed to give in, completely mastered by his big companion.

What was said was a mystery to Max, but it sounded to him as if the big forester was taking his part, and crushing down Long Shon till the latter gave in, when Tavish’s face cleared, and his eyes smiled at Max, as he said,—

“She shall not do like Maister Ken and Scoodrach, or ta poat could not come and say they are on the crag.”

“No, of course not,” said Max confusedly, for he could hardly follow the great fellow’s meaning.

Then, in comparative peace, the boat skimming rapidly over the smooth sea, they sped on, with Max wondering that the ride could be so different now that there was no danger, and he had the companionship of two strong men. But all the same he could not help feeling something like regret that he was no longer the crew and in full charge. He felt something like pride, too, in his exploit, and the day’s adventure had done more than he knew towards planting him in the high road to manhood.

The castles were passed in what seemed a wonderfully short time, and the great wall of cliff loomed up on their left, but they had a long way to sail before Max suddenly exclaimed,—

“I see them! Look! Kenneth is waving his cap.”

“Na; it shall pe ta Scoodrach wi’ her ponnet.”

Tavish uttered another low, menacing growl of a very leonine nature, and his eyes were flashing, but they softened into a smile as they encountered those of Max.

A little while after, with the two boys on high cheering them as they passed, the boat was run into the little nook and fastened, Tavish taking the ring of rope and leaping ashore, followed by Max and Long Shon, who got over the rough rocks and up the gully in a wonderful way, hopping on to stones and off again—stones which Tavish took in one of his great strides and with the greatest ease.

It was almost marvellous to Max to see the way in which the great forester made his way up the gully, so that he would have been at the top in half the time if he had not kept stopping to reach down his hand to the lad, who was at various places compelled to climb on all-fours.

“She’ll do muckle petter soon,” he said, smiling. “Ta legs sail ket harter. Hey, but it’s a sair pity she does not wear ta kilt!”

“She hasna got ta legs for ta kilt,” grumbled Long Shon, who was behind; and Max partly caught his words, and felt a curious sensation of annoyance at the disparaging remark.

Five minutes later they were on the top, when Tavish went straight to the spot where the little anchor was forced in between the rocks, picked up the broken rope, and threw it down again, before stepping to the edge of the cliff and bending over.

“She shouldna troost to a pit o’ line like that.”

“How did I know it was going to break?” shouted Kenneth. “It bore me right enough. It was old Scoody here who was so heavy.”

“Ta rope wasna fit to bear a dog,” grumbled Scoodrach. “Hech! she shall break ta rope wi’ Sneeshing.”

The dog, which had been ready to jump up and greet the new-comers, ran at this, and looked down, and barked at the speaker, as if disputing his remark.

“You are going to fasten the line to the anchor, aren’t you?” said Max.

“Na,” growled Tavish. “She sail come up wi’out ta grapnel.”

He threw the coil of rope on the grass, took the end, and made a loop thereon before lowering it down.

“But you cannot bear him alone?”

“The two,” said Tavish coolly, as he threw the coil back now out of his way.

“Retty?” he cried.

“Yes, all right!” shouted Kenneth; and, standing there at the very brink of the terrible precipice, Tavish bent down, and drew up the rope hand over hand till Scoodrach’s head appeared, and then the lad reached out, caught at Tavish’s arm, and swung easily on to the top of the cliff, when the rope was lowered again, and directly after drawn up till Kenneth’s head appeared, and he too swung himself on to the top, and stood laughing at Max, whose hands were uncomfortably damp.

“Here we are!” he cried. “Thank ye, Tavvy. Why, where are the hawks, Scood?”

“She prought ’em up herself.”

“No, I didn’t. I left them for you to bring.”

“She never told her to bring ta birds,” grumbled Scoodrach, in an ill-used tone.

“I believe you went to sleep. I’ve a jolly good mind to pitch you overboard.”

“She’s always saying she’ll pitch her overpoard.”

“There, come along down,” said Long Shon.

“No, I’m not going without my birds, Shonny,” cried Kenneth. “Here, Scood, go down and fetch ’em. No; if I send you down, you’ll go to sleep again, and forget them. Here, Tavvy, give us hold of the rope.”

“She isna going town gain,” remonstrated the great Highlander.

“Oh yes, she is.”

“No, no, pray don’t venture again!” whispered Max.

“What! and leave those two poor birds to starve? Not I. Here, Tav, hold tight.”

The great forester stood by while Kenneth threw over some fifty feet of the rope, and then stood smiling grimly, while, in defiance of all advice, and trusting utterly to the strength of the gillie’s arms, Kenneth seized the rope, and let himself glide over the edge of the rock, dropping out of sight directly, while Max held his breath, as he saw the quivering of the forester’s arms as Kenneth slipped down.

Then the movement ceased, and Max exclaimed excitedly,—

“Is he down safely?”

“Ou ay! she’s all right,” replied Tavish, as he gazed calmly down. “Come and look.”

Max shook his head. He had had shocks enough to his nerves that day, and could bear no more.

Long Shon, however, went to the edge, and stood looking down with a grim smile. Sneeshing did the same, and barked; while Scoodrach threw himself down, and lay on the edge of the cliff looking over.

“Haul away!” came from below, and Tavish drew up a pair of coarse worsted stockings knotted together and tied to the rope.

These were set at liberty, and, as they were placed upon a rock, there was a good deal of shuffling and movement inside, the occupants of the stockings trying first to ascend the legs, and then travelling back toward the toes, and remaining quiescent till there was the shadow cast by a bird, as it darted overhead, and a shrill cry, which seemed to set the young birds in a state of great excitement.

“Oh, if I’d been up there!” shouted Kenneth from below. “What a chance for a shot!”

“Retty, Maister Ken?”

“Yes; haul away.”

“Now, Scood, hang on, and heave her up,” cried Tavish.

“She could choost pull her up wi’ ane han’,” said Long Shon scornfully.

“Ay, but she’s a wunnerfu’ man,” said the forester coolly, and he half closed his eyes, and then passed the rope through his hands as Scood took hold and walked inward, as if he had harnessed himself, Sneeshing walking by his side, and seeming to take the deepest interest in all that was going on.

A minute more, and Tavish had swung Kenneth on to the cliff, the birds were given to Scoodrach to carry, and the party descended the gully, laughing heartily at the adventure, which was talked over from all sides, and Max questioned and criticised about his sailing the boat, till they had reached within a tack of Dunroe, when Tavish said, in his broad dialect, and with one of his pleasant looks,—

“She mustn’t mind what ta young Chief says. She sailed ta poat peautifully, only ta next tune she mustna pull oot ta cork.”

“Eh, pull out the cork!” cried Kenneth sharply. “Why, you haven’t been at the whisky, Max? No; there was none on board.”

“Na, na,” cried Tavish, “ta cork plug. She sailt in wi’ ta watter nearly up to her knees.”

“Ay,” said Long Shon, gazing down at Max’s still wet trouser legs; “an’ aw’m thinking it shows ta creat ignorance o’ ta Southron folk, to baggie up her legs like tat, when a man might wear a kilt and niver get her legs wet at all.”

“All right, Shonny. Mr Max is going to have one, with a plaid that’ll make your eyes ache. Now, Scoody, jump out, and take care of those hawks. Hooray, Max! just in time. There goes the gong.”

Chapter Nineteen.How Kenneth was too Rash.Five days had passed—days of imprisonment, for one of the storms prophesied had come over the ocean from the far west, and there had been nothing to do but read, play chess and billiards, write letters, and—most interesting amusement of all to the London visitor—get up to an open window and watch the great dark waves come rolling in, to break with a noise like thunder, and deluge the rock with foam right up to the castle walls. Every now and then a huge roller would dash right into the bath cave, when there would be quite an explosion, and Max listened with a feeling of awe to the escape of the confined air, and wondered whether it would be possible for the place to be undermined, and the whole rock swept away.“What!” cried Kenneth, when he broached the idea. “Nonsense! It has gone on like that for thousands of years. It’s jolly! Next time we bathe, there won’t be a scrap of weed left. The place will be regularly scoured out, and the bottom covered with soft shelly sand.”The outlook was most dismal. All the glorious colours of sea, sky, and mountain were blotted out, and it was only at intervals, when the drifting rain-clouds lifted a little, that a glimpse could be seen of some island out at sea.Boom, rush, roar. The wind whistled and yelled as it rattled past the windows, and at times the violence was so great that Max turned an inquiring look at his young host, as if to ask whether there was any danger.“Like a sail to-day?” asked the latter.“Sail? with the sea like this!”“Well, I don’t think I should like it,” said Kenneth, laughing. “Tavvy says the boat was going adrift out in the bay, but he caught her in time. It’s quite rough even there. Here, let’s put on waterproofs, and go out.”“Oh no. There: see how it rains.”“Yes, that’s pretty tidy,” said Kenneth, as the air was literally blackened by the tremendous torrent that fell. “I say, Max, this is the sort of day to see the Mare’s Tail. My word! there’s some water coming down now.”“It must be terrible.”“Terrible? Nonsense! Here, come into the kitchen and let’s see if there’s any one there.”Max wondered, but followed his young host to the kitchen, expecting to see no one but the maids, and perhaps Grant, the severe butler; but, when they reached the great stone-floored place, there were Tavish, Long Shon, and Scoodrach, the two latter seated at a table, and the great forester toasting the back of his legs at the fire, and sending up a cloud of steam, an example followed by the three dogs, who sent up smaller clouds of their own.There was a chorus, or rather a trio of good-mornings, and a series of rappings from dogs’ tails, and Max ventured to suggest to the great Highlander that it was very wet.“Ou ay,” he said; “a wee bit shoory, put she’ll pe over soon.”“Pretty good spate up in the hills, Tavvy,” cried Kenneth.“Ou ay, Maister Ken; but it’s gran’ weather for ta fush.”“A’ was thenking ye’d like to tak’ ta chentleman up ta glen to see ta fa’s,” said Long Shon.“Ah, we might do that when the shower’s over.”“There’ll pe a teal of watter coming down fra Ben Doil.”“Yes, we’ll go, Max; and, say, Tav, we never went after the stags Scoody and I saw. Think we could get a shot at them to-day?”“Weel, she might, Maister Ken, put she’d pe a wee pit wat for ta young chentleman.”“Oh, he wouldn’t mind. You’d like to go deerstalking, Max?”“Yes, I should like to go, but—”“Oh, we wouldn’t go while it rains hard; and you’d only get your feet wet.”“She couldna get over ta mountain to-day,” said Long Shon decisively; “and ta glen’ll be so full of watter, she couldna stand.”“Oh, nonsense! We could go, Tav?”“Ou ay, she could go, put there’s a teal o’ watter apoot.”Just at that moment a weird-looking figure appeared at the door, with his long grey hair and beard streaked together with the rain, and, as he caught Max’s eye, he smiled at him, raised one hand, gave a mysterious-looking nod, and beckoned to him to come.“Here, Maxy, old Donald wants you.”“What for?” said Max, as he shrinkingly met the old man’s eye, as he still kept on beckoning, and completely ignored the presence of the rest.“He wants to give you a tune on the pipes.”Donald beckoned again in a quiet, mysterious manner, and the three dogs looked at him uneasily, Sneeshing uttering a low growl, as if he had unpleasant memories of bagpipe melodies and stones thrown at him because he had been unable to bear the music, and had howled.“What’s the matter, Tonal’?” cried Kenneth, as the old man kept on beckoning.“She disna want onybody but ta Southron chiel’,” said the old man sternly; and he continued to wave Max toward him with his long, claw-like hand.For a few moments Max felt as if he must go—as if some force which he had not the moral courage to resist was drawing him, and he was about to rise, when the old man gave a fierce stamp with his foot.“You’ll be obliged to go, Maxy,” said Kenneth. “Have a concert all to yourself for three or four hours. It will be rather windy, but the rain doesn’t come in on one side of the old tower room.”“No, no, not to-day!” cried Max hastily.“Oh, you’ll have to go,” said Kenneth, as the old man kept on waving his hand imperiously. “Won’t he, Scood?”“Ou ay, she’ll have to go and hear ta pipes.”As if angered at the invitation not being accepted, old Donald took a couple of strides forward into the kitchen.This was too much for Sneeshing, who leaped up on to his four short legs, barked furiously, and then, overcome by recollections of the last air he had heard, he threw up his head so as to straighten his throat, and gave forth the most miserable howl a dog could utter.Old Donald shouted something in Gaelic, and made for the dog, which began to bark and snap at him, and this roused Dirk and Bruce to take part with him in baying at the old piper, who stopped short, as if startled at the array of teeth.The noise was so great that Grant the butler came hurrying in.“Turn those dogs oot!” he cried. “You, Tonal’, what do you want?”“Ta Southron chiel’,” said the old man mysteriously.“She lo’es ta pipes, and she’ll play him ta Mackhai’s Mairch.”Turning to Max, he waved him toward the door.“No, no, not to-day,” said Grant, who read the young visitor’s reluctance to go.“But ta chiel’ lo’es ta pipes,” cried Donald.“Then you shall play to him another time.”“Yes, another time, Tonal’. Be off now, and I’ll bring ye a wee drappie by and by,” cried Kenneth.“She’ll pring her a wee drappie? Good laddie! She shall pring her a wee drappie, and she wass nice and try up in the tower, and she wass make a nice fire.”He made a mysterious sign or two, suggestive of his making a silent promise to give his young master all the music he had intended for Max, and went slowly out of the great stone-floored place.“Noo, send oot the dogs,” said Grant; and, to make sure, he did it himself, a quiet wave of his hand being sufficient to drive them all out into the yard behind the kitchen.“She said she should soon pe fine,” said Long Shon, as a gleam of sunshine shot through the window; for the storm was passing over, and its rearguard, in the form of endless ragged fleecy clouds, could be seen racing across the blue sky; while, in an hour from then, the sky was swept clear, and the sun shone out bright and warm.“Now,” cried Kenneth, “let’s get the rifles, and go and have a stalk.”“It would jist aboot be madness,” said Grant; “and the Chief would be in a fine way. Tell him he can’t go.”“Oh ay! he’s spout richt, Maister Ken. She’s too fu’ o’ watter to go over the mountain and through ta glen.”“She wass saying she’d go and tak’ the young chentleman to see the fa’s.”“Ay, there’s a gran’ fa’ o’ watter the noo,” said Tavish.“Oh, very well, then; let’s go and see the falls. Come along, Scoody. I’ll get a gun. You’ll take yours, Max.”“Shall I?”“Yes, of course. We may get a good shot at something.”The two lads went back into the hall, and, passing through a swing door, they suddenly came upon The Mackhai pacing up and down.He looked up, frowning as he caught sight of Max, and was evidently going to say something; but he checked himself, and went quickly into the library and shut the door.“I’d give something to know what’s the matter with father,” said Kenneth thoughtfully. “He never used to be like this.”Max felt uncomfortable, and, being very sensitive, he turned to his companion:“Have I done anything to annoy him?” he asked.“You? No. What nonsense! There, come along. We haven’t had such a day as this for ever so long, and I’ve been indoors till I can hardly breathe. Why not have a sail?”Max looked aghast at the heaving sea.“Perhaps it is a bit too rough,” said Kenneth. “Never mind; we’ll go and see the falls.”Ten minutes later they were skirting round the little bay, to turn in by the first swollen river, to track its bed up to the mountain, where the “fa’s” they were to see were to be found, and, even as they went, a low, deep, humming sound came to the ear, suggestive of some vast machinery in motion; while the river at their side ran as if it were so much porter covered with froth, great flakes of which were eddying here and there, and being cast up in iridescent patches on the stony banks.At the end of a quarter of an hour’s climbing and stumbling among the wet rocks and bushes, during which the two big dogs had been trotting quietly along at their master’s heels, and Sneeshing, in a wonderful state of excitement, hunting everywhere for that rabbit which he had on his mind, Max stopped short.“Hallo! Tired?” cried Kenneth, laughing.“Oh no! But it seems such a pity to go hurrying on. Wait a few minutes.”Kenneth laughed, and yet he could not help feeling gratified at his companion’s enthusiasm.“Here, hold hard a bit, Tawy,” he cried. “Stop a bit, Shon.”The two men halted; the dogs settled themselves upon a sunny rock, Bruce with his pointed nose comfortably across Dirk’s rough, warm frill, and Sneeshing curled himself up in the angle formed by the two dogs’ bodies, close up to and as much under Dirk’s long hair as he could; while Scoodrach seated himself on a huge block of black slate, which did not belong to the place, but must have fallen from some vein high up the gorge, and been brought down by wintry floods, a little way at a time, during hundreds of years, till it lay jammed in among the great blocks of granite like a chip in a basin of lumps of sugar. This piece of slate suited Scoodrach’s eye, and he took out his big knife and began to sharpen it.Long Shon took a little curly sheep’s horn out of his pouch, and had a pinch of snuff.Tavish filled a dumpy black wooden pipe, and began to smoke; while Kenneth, as he smilingly watched Max, hummed over Black Donald’s bagpipe tune, “The March of the Clan Mackhai.”“Well,” said Kenneth at last, breaking the silence, through which came a low, deep, humming roar, “what do you think of Dunroe?”“Think!” cried Max, in a low, deep voice; “it’s heavenly.”And he stood gazing up the narrow glen, with its intensely dark shadows among the rocks, through which the brilliant sun-rays struck down, making the raindrops which hung upon the delicate leaves of the pendent birches glisten like diamonds.For it was one beautiful series of pictures at which the lad gazed: patches of vivid blue above, seen through the openings among the trees; right below, the foaming river coming down in a hundred miniature falls; silver-stemmed and ruddy-bronze birches rooting in the sides, and sending their leaves and twigs hanging over like cascades of verdure; pines and spruces rising up on all sides like pyramids of deep, dark green; and everywhere the masses of rock glittering with crystals, and clothed with mosses of the most vivid tints, and among whose crevices the ferns threw up their pointed, softly-laced fronds.The sunlight glanced down like sheaves of dazzling silver arrows; and over the water, and softly riding down the glen, came soft, filmy clouds of mist, so fine and delicate that they constantly faded into invisibility; while every now and then there were passing glimpses of colour appearing and disappearing over the rushing torrent, as if there had been a rainbow somewhere up above—one which had broken up, and these were its fragments being borne away.“I never saw anything so beautiful,” said Max, almost wondering at his companion’s want of enthusiasm.“And do you know what makes it so beautiful?”“It was made so.”“Yes; but it is the sun. If a black cloud came over now, and it began to rain, the place would look so gloomy and miserable that you’d want to hurry home.”“Yes; ta young Chief’s richt,” said Tavish, nodding his head. “It’s ta ferry wettest place I know when ta rain comes doon and ta wind will plow.”“Let’s go on,” said Kenneth after awhile. “It gets more and more beautiful higher up.”“It can’t be!” cried Max. “And is this all your father’s property?”“Yes,” said Kenneth proudly; “this all belongs to The Mackhai.”“Ant it will aal pelong to ta young Chief some tay, when he crows a pig man.”Max went on with a sigh, but only to find that the place really did grow more beautiful as they climbed on, while the deep, humming roar grew louder and more awe-inspiring as they penetrated farther and farther into the recesses of the mountain. For the long and heavy rain had charged the fountains of the hills to bursting. Every lakelet was brimming, every patch of moss saturated, and from a thousand channels, that were at first mere threads, the water came rushing down to coalesce in the narrow glen, and eddy, and leap, and swirl, and hurry on toward the sea.“Why are we climbing up so high?” said Max suddenly.“To show you our glen, and take you up by the falls.”A curious shrinking sensation came upon Max, and Kenneth noticed it.“This isn’t the Grey Mare’s Tail,” he said, laughing; “and we’re not in a boat.”“I can’t help feeling a little nervous,” said Max frankly. “I am not used to this sort of thing.”“And we are. Yes, of course. It’s too bad to laugh at you. Come on.”“Is there any danger?”“Well, of course there is, if you go and tumble in, but you needn’t go near.”The humming roar grew louder as they tramped on along a sheep-track in and out among the huge stones which had fallen from the sides of the great gully. Now they were in deep shadow, where brilliant speckled fungi, all white and red, stood out like stools beneath the birch trees; then they were high up on quite a shelf, where the turf and moss were short, and the sun shone out clearly; and ever, as they turned angle after angle of the great zigzag, the roar of the water grew louder, till, after another hour’s slow climbing, they descended a sloping green track and came into a great hollow directly facing them; and a couple of hundred feet overhead, a narrow rift, out of which poured an amber stream of water on to a huge block of rock some twenty feet below, the result being that the great spout of amber water was broken and turned into a sheet of foam, which spread out all over the great block, and fell sheer the rest of the distance, over a hundred and fifty feet, into a vast hollow below. Here it careered round and round, and rushed onward toward where the group were standing, while high above all floated a cloud of fine vapour which resembled white smoke, and upon which played the iridescent colours of half a rainbow, completing the picture in a way which made Max watch it in silent delight.“Well, what do you think of it?” said Kenneth, who was amused by the London lad’s rapt manner.“Eh? think?” said Max, starting and colouring.“Yes. What were you thinking?”“I was wishing that it was mine—all my own, so that I could come and sit here and think.”“Well, you may come here and sit and think, but it never will be yours. It has always belonged to the Mackhais ever since they conquered the Mackalps, and took it with claymore and targe. There was a tremendous fight up above there, and, as my ancestors cut down the Mackalps, they threw them into the stream at the top, and there they were shot out over the fall, and carried right out to sea.”“How horrible!”“Horrible? Why, it was all considered very brave and grand, and we are very proud of it. There’s a sword down at the castle that they say was used in the great fight.”“And are you proud of it?”“I don’t know. I suppose so. Does seem queer, though, to chop chaps with swords and pitch ’em into the water. Rather an awkward place to come down, wouldn’t it, Max?”“Awful!”“Well, never mind talking about it. Come up and see.”“What! climb up there?”“To be sure. Oh, you needn’t be afraid. It’s quite safe. You go up that narrow path, and get round in among those birch trees, and that brings you out by the top.”“I—”“Oh, don’t come if you’re scared,” said Kenneth contemptuously.Max rose from the stone upon which he had been seated.“I’m ready,” he said.“Well, you are a rum chap, Maxy,” cried Kenneth, clapping him on the shoulder. “Sometimes I think you are the jolliest coward I ever saw, and sometimes I think you’ve got plenty of pluck. Which is it?”“I’m afraid I’m very cowardly,” said Max sadly.“Oh, come, now I’m sure of it!” cried Kenneth warmly.“That I am a great coward?”“No; that you’re full of pluck. My father says that a fellow must be very brave to own he is a coward. Come on.”They started up the side, with Scoodrach following close behind.“Going up to ta top o’ ta fa’s, Maister Kenneth?” shouted Long Shon.“Yes. Coming with us?”“She’d petter tak’ care,” cried Tavish. “There’s a teal o’ watter, and ta stanes is ferry wat.”“All right, Tavvy; we’ll mind,” cried Kenneth; and he plunged in among the bushes and rocks, to begin climbing upward in and out, and gradually leaving the rushing waters of the fall behind, while, as the misty foam with its lovely ferny surroundings faded from the eye, the loud splash and roar gradually softened upon the ear till the sound was once more a deep, murmurous hum, which acted as a bass accompaniment to a harsh, wild air which Scoodrach began to sing, or rather bray.Kenneth stopped short, held back the bushes of hazel dotted with nuts, and turned round to give Max a comical look.“What’s the matter, Scoody?” he cried. “Eh? ta matter? I only scratched my hand wi’ a bit thorn.”“Oh! Well, you needn’t make so much noise about it.”“Noise spout it! She titn’t mak’ nae noise.”“Yes, you did. You hulloaed horribly.”“She titn’t. She was chust singing a wee bit sang.”“Singing? Did you say singing?”“Ay, she was chust singing ta Allambogle.”“Do you hear that, Maxy? he thinks he was singing.”“Wah!” ejaculated Scoodrach; and the little party climbed on, with Max wondering how anybody could find breath to make such a noise when climbing up so great a steep.In a few minutes the sound of the fall began to grow louder once more, and a shrinking sensation to attack Max; but he put a bold face upon the matter, and followed close to Kenneth till the latter turned to him.“Here we are,” he said, “close to the spout.” Max looked, but could see nothing, only a dense tangle of hazel stubbs among the green moss, at whose roots grew endless numbers of fungi, shaped like rough chalices, and of the colour of a ripe apricot.“I can’t see it.”“No, not there; but you can here.”As he spoke, Kenneth divided the bushes, and held them apart for his companion to join him, and the next moment they were standing on the brink of a narrow rift in the rock, so narrow that the bush-tips met overhead, and made the water that glided silently along many feet below look quite dark.“But that’s not the whole of the water which goes over the fall,” said Max wonderingly.“Every drop. It’s narrow, but it’s fine and deep, and when it spouts out it falls on to the stones and spreads round so as to look big—makes the most of itself. Now then, are you tired?”“Yes; my legs ache a bit.”“Very well, then, this is the nearest way home.”“I don’t understand you.”“Jump in here, and the water would carry you right away down to the bathing-cave. Scood and I have sent strings of corks down here, and the stream has carried them right to Dunroe.”“I think I’d rather walk,” said Max, smiling.“So would I. Now come on and see where the water falls.”He led the way, and Max and Scoodrach followed, the latter, who was musically disposed that morning, taking advantage of the noise made by the falls to use it as a cloak to cover his own, with the result that every now and then Max was startled by hearing sounds close behind him remarkably suggestive of Donald Dhu being close upon their track, armed with his pipes, and doing battle with all his might.“Here you are,” cried Kenneth, brushing through the last of the hazel boughs, and standing out on the rock close to the edge of the great hollow into which the water poured; and the shrinking sensation increased, as Max joined his friend, and found that there was nothing to protect him from falling into the great gulf at whose brink they stood.All this struck him for the moment, but the dread was swept away by the rush of thought which took its place. For there below, as he gazed down at the falling water arching from the narrow rift into a stony basin, to then rush over the sides and fall in a silvery veil, to the deep chasm fringed with delicate dew—sparkling greenery, amidst whose leaves and boughs floated upward a cloud of white mist, which kept changing, as the sun shone upon it, to green and yellow and violet and orange of many depths of tone, but all dazzlingly bright, one melting into the other and disappearing to reappear in other rainbow hues.Far below them, toward where the rugged hollow opened out to allow of the escape of the water from the falls, Tavish and Long Shon could be seen, seated on the stones they had chosen, smoking their pipes and basking in company with the dogs, for the warm rays of a sunny day had of late been rare.“There’s a teal o’ watter in the fa’s,” said Scoodrach gravely.“Of course there is, stupid, after this rain,” cried Kenneth. “Tell me something I don’t know.”“Couldn’t tell her nothing she don’t know,” cried Scoodrach. “She reats books, and goes to school, and learns efferything.”“That’s just what the masters say I don’t do, Scoody. Here, let’s go down to the basin.”“What! get down there?” cried Max in horror, as Kenneth seated himself on the edge of the stony channel through which the water came down from the mountain before making its leap.“Yes; it’s easy enough,” cried Kenneth, dangling his legs to and fro, and making them brush through the fronds of a beautiful fern growing in a crevice. “Scoody and I have often been down.”“But she shall not go pelow now,” said the young gillie, looking down at the smooth, glassy current. “There’s chust too much watter in ta way.”“Get out!” cried Kenneth. “Look here, Max: you can get down here to the edge of the water, and follow it to where it makes its first leap, and then get under it to the other side, and clamber on to the edge of the basin where it spreads, and look down. It’s glorious. Come on.”“Na, she will not come,” cried Scoodrach. “There’s too much watter.”“You’re a worse coward than Max.”“Nay, she shall na go,” cried Scoodrach, making a bound to the spot where Kenneth was seated; but quick as thought the lad twisted round, let himself glide down, and, as the young gillie made a dash at his hands, they slid over the moss and grass and were gone.Kenneth’s merry laugh came up out of the narrow rift, sounding muffled and strange, and the two lads looked down to where he was creeping along, some fifteen feet below them, in the half-darkness of the hollow, and holding on by the pendent roots which issued from the crevices, as he picked his way along the stones, with the water often washing against his feet.“Come down, Max. Don’t be a coward,” he cried, as he looked up over his shoulder at the two anxious faces, while the hiss, rush, and roar of the water nearly covered with sound his half-heard voice.“She’s coing to troon herself, ye ken!” cried Scoodrach, stamping his foot with rage. “Come pack, Maister Ken! Do she hear me? Come pack!”Kenneth probably did not hear the words, but he looked up again and laughed, as he stood near the end of the narrow gully, with the sunny light of the great hollow behind him showing up his form, and at the same time his face was lit up strangely by the weird gleam of a reflection from the rushing, glassy, peat-stained stream as it glided on to the mouth of the gully for its leap.“She canna stay here and see her young maister troon herself,” cried Scoodrach wildly. “She must go town and ket trooned too.”“Coming, Scoody?” cried Kenneth, as he half turned round where he stood on a little block of stone, against which the water surged.Scoodrach was in the act of seating himself upon the edge previous to lowering himself down, and, why he knew not, he hesitated and spoke, half to Max, half to himself.“She’ll go and trag her pack! she’ll go and trag her pack!” Then he uttered a hoarse cry, for, as they saw Kenneth, framed in as it were by the narrow rock, gazing back at them, while the swift gleaming water swept by his legs, they suddenly noted that he started and made a clutch at an overhanging root which came away in his hands, while the stone upon which he was standing tottered over and disappeared in the rushing water.But Kenneth was active as a monkey; and, failing in his first attempt to grasp something to support him, he made a second leap and caught at a hazel bough which grew out horizontally above his head.This time he was successful, and, as the sturdy bough bent and swayed, the lad hung right over the rushing water.“Chump! Swing and chump, Maister Ken!” cried Scoodrach; and then he was silent, and sat staring wildly, for he realised that he could not help his young master—that there would not be time.Kenneth was swinging to and fro, the bough dipping and rising and dipping, so low that the water almost touched his feet. As he hung he tried to get a better hold, and made a struggle to go hand over hand to the place where the bough joined the mossy roots.But it was all in vain. Before he could get his loosened hand past a secondary branch, the rotten root broke away from its insecure hold in the gully wall, and one moment the two spectators saw Kenneth hanging there, his form shown up by the light behind; the next, they saw branch and its holder descend quickly into the glassy water, which was momentarily disturbed by a few leafy twigs standing above its surface, then a hand appeared, then again with half the arm, making a clutch at vacancy, and then there was nothing but the water gliding onward to the opening through which it leaped down into the basin on the top of the spreading rock.

Five days had passed—days of imprisonment, for one of the storms prophesied had come over the ocean from the far west, and there had been nothing to do but read, play chess and billiards, write letters, and—most interesting amusement of all to the London visitor—get up to an open window and watch the great dark waves come rolling in, to break with a noise like thunder, and deluge the rock with foam right up to the castle walls. Every now and then a huge roller would dash right into the bath cave, when there would be quite an explosion, and Max listened with a feeling of awe to the escape of the confined air, and wondered whether it would be possible for the place to be undermined, and the whole rock swept away.

“What!” cried Kenneth, when he broached the idea. “Nonsense! It has gone on like that for thousands of years. It’s jolly! Next time we bathe, there won’t be a scrap of weed left. The place will be regularly scoured out, and the bottom covered with soft shelly sand.”

The outlook was most dismal. All the glorious colours of sea, sky, and mountain were blotted out, and it was only at intervals, when the drifting rain-clouds lifted a little, that a glimpse could be seen of some island out at sea.

Boom, rush, roar. The wind whistled and yelled as it rattled past the windows, and at times the violence was so great that Max turned an inquiring look at his young host, as if to ask whether there was any danger.

“Like a sail to-day?” asked the latter.

“Sail? with the sea like this!”

“Well, I don’t think I should like it,” said Kenneth, laughing. “Tavvy says the boat was going adrift out in the bay, but he caught her in time. It’s quite rough even there. Here, let’s put on waterproofs, and go out.”

“Oh no. There: see how it rains.”

“Yes, that’s pretty tidy,” said Kenneth, as the air was literally blackened by the tremendous torrent that fell. “I say, Max, this is the sort of day to see the Mare’s Tail. My word! there’s some water coming down now.”

“It must be terrible.”

“Terrible? Nonsense! Here, come into the kitchen and let’s see if there’s any one there.”

Max wondered, but followed his young host to the kitchen, expecting to see no one but the maids, and perhaps Grant, the severe butler; but, when they reached the great stone-floored place, there were Tavish, Long Shon, and Scoodrach, the two latter seated at a table, and the great forester toasting the back of his legs at the fire, and sending up a cloud of steam, an example followed by the three dogs, who sent up smaller clouds of their own.

There was a chorus, or rather a trio of good-mornings, and a series of rappings from dogs’ tails, and Max ventured to suggest to the great Highlander that it was very wet.

“Ou ay,” he said; “a wee bit shoory, put she’ll pe over soon.”

“Pretty good spate up in the hills, Tavvy,” cried Kenneth.

“Ou ay, Maister Ken; but it’s gran’ weather for ta fush.”

“A’ was thenking ye’d like to tak’ ta chentleman up ta glen to see ta fa’s,” said Long Shon.

“Ah, we might do that when the shower’s over.”

“There’ll pe a teal of watter coming down fra Ben Doil.”

“Yes, we’ll go, Max; and, say, Tav, we never went after the stags Scoody and I saw. Think we could get a shot at them to-day?”

“Weel, she might, Maister Ken, put she’d pe a wee pit wat for ta young chentleman.”

“Oh, he wouldn’t mind. You’d like to go deerstalking, Max?”

“Yes, I should like to go, but—”

“Oh, we wouldn’t go while it rains hard; and you’d only get your feet wet.”

“She couldna get over ta mountain to-day,” said Long Shon decisively; “and ta glen’ll be so full of watter, she couldna stand.”

“Oh, nonsense! We could go, Tav?”

“Ou ay, she could go, put there’s a teal o’ watter apoot.”

Just at that moment a weird-looking figure appeared at the door, with his long grey hair and beard streaked together with the rain, and, as he caught Max’s eye, he smiled at him, raised one hand, gave a mysterious-looking nod, and beckoned to him to come.

“Here, Maxy, old Donald wants you.”

“What for?” said Max, as he shrinkingly met the old man’s eye, as he still kept on beckoning, and completely ignored the presence of the rest.

“He wants to give you a tune on the pipes.”

Donald beckoned again in a quiet, mysterious manner, and the three dogs looked at him uneasily, Sneeshing uttering a low growl, as if he had unpleasant memories of bagpipe melodies and stones thrown at him because he had been unable to bear the music, and had howled.

“What’s the matter, Tonal’?” cried Kenneth, as the old man kept on beckoning.

“She disna want onybody but ta Southron chiel’,” said the old man sternly; and he continued to wave Max toward him with his long, claw-like hand.

For a few moments Max felt as if he must go—as if some force which he had not the moral courage to resist was drawing him, and he was about to rise, when the old man gave a fierce stamp with his foot.

“You’ll be obliged to go, Maxy,” said Kenneth. “Have a concert all to yourself for three or four hours. It will be rather windy, but the rain doesn’t come in on one side of the old tower room.”

“No, no, not to-day!” cried Max hastily.

“Oh, you’ll have to go,” said Kenneth, as the old man kept on waving his hand imperiously. “Won’t he, Scood?”

“Ou ay, she’ll have to go and hear ta pipes.”

As if angered at the invitation not being accepted, old Donald took a couple of strides forward into the kitchen.

This was too much for Sneeshing, who leaped up on to his four short legs, barked furiously, and then, overcome by recollections of the last air he had heard, he threw up his head so as to straighten his throat, and gave forth the most miserable howl a dog could utter.

Old Donald shouted something in Gaelic, and made for the dog, which began to bark and snap at him, and this roused Dirk and Bruce to take part with him in baying at the old piper, who stopped short, as if startled at the array of teeth.

The noise was so great that Grant the butler came hurrying in.

“Turn those dogs oot!” he cried. “You, Tonal’, what do you want?”

“Ta Southron chiel’,” said the old man mysteriously.

“She lo’es ta pipes, and she’ll play him ta Mackhai’s Mairch.”

Turning to Max, he waved him toward the door.

“No, no, not to-day,” said Grant, who read the young visitor’s reluctance to go.

“But ta chiel’ lo’es ta pipes,” cried Donald.

“Then you shall play to him another time.”

“Yes, another time, Tonal’. Be off now, and I’ll bring ye a wee drappie by and by,” cried Kenneth.

“She’ll pring her a wee drappie? Good laddie! She shall pring her a wee drappie, and she wass nice and try up in the tower, and she wass make a nice fire.”

He made a mysterious sign or two, suggestive of his making a silent promise to give his young master all the music he had intended for Max, and went slowly out of the great stone-floored place.

“Noo, send oot the dogs,” said Grant; and, to make sure, he did it himself, a quiet wave of his hand being sufficient to drive them all out into the yard behind the kitchen.

“She said she should soon pe fine,” said Long Shon, as a gleam of sunshine shot through the window; for the storm was passing over, and its rearguard, in the form of endless ragged fleecy clouds, could be seen racing across the blue sky; while, in an hour from then, the sky was swept clear, and the sun shone out bright and warm.

“Now,” cried Kenneth, “let’s get the rifles, and go and have a stalk.”

“It would jist aboot be madness,” said Grant; “and the Chief would be in a fine way. Tell him he can’t go.”

“Oh ay! he’s spout richt, Maister Ken. She’s too fu’ o’ watter to go over the mountain and through ta glen.”

“She wass saying she’d go and tak’ the young chentleman to see the fa’s.”

“Ay, there’s a gran’ fa’ o’ watter the noo,” said Tavish.

“Oh, very well, then; let’s go and see the falls. Come along, Scoody. I’ll get a gun. You’ll take yours, Max.”

“Shall I?”

“Yes, of course. We may get a good shot at something.”

The two lads went back into the hall, and, passing through a swing door, they suddenly came upon The Mackhai pacing up and down.

He looked up, frowning as he caught sight of Max, and was evidently going to say something; but he checked himself, and went quickly into the library and shut the door.

“I’d give something to know what’s the matter with father,” said Kenneth thoughtfully. “He never used to be like this.”

Max felt uncomfortable, and, being very sensitive, he turned to his companion:

“Have I done anything to annoy him?” he asked.

“You? No. What nonsense! There, come along. We haven’t had such a day as this for ever so long, and I’ve been indoors till I can hardly breathe. Why not have a sail?”

Max looked aghast at the heaving sea.

“Perhaps it is a bit too rough,” said Kenneth. “Never mind; we’ll go and see the falls.”

Ten minutes later they were skirting round the little bay, to turn in by the first swollen river, to track its bed up to the mountain, where the “fa’s” they were to see were to be found, and, even as they went, a low, deep, humming sound came to the ear, suggestive of some vast machinery in motion; while the river at their side ran as if it were so much porter covered with froth, great flakes of which were eddying here and there, and being cast up in iridescent patches on the stony banks.

At the end of a quarter of an hour’s climbing and stumbling among the wet rocks and bushes, during which the two big dogs had been trotting quietly along at their master’s heels, and Sneeshing, in a wonderful state of excitement, hunting everywhere for that rabbit which he had on his mind, Max stopped short.

“Hallo! Tired?” cried Kenneth, laughing.

“Oh no! But it seems such a pity to go hurrying on. Wait a few minutes.”

Kenneth laughed, and yet he could not help feeling gratified at his companion’s enthusiasm.

“Here, hold hard a bit, Tawy,” he cried. “Stop a bit, Shon.”

The two men halted; the dogs settled themselves upon a sunny rock, Bruce with his pointed nose comfortably across Dirk’s rough, warm frill, and Sneeshing curled himself up in the angle formed by the two dogs’ bodies, close up to and as much under Dirk’s long hair as he could; while Scoodrach seated himself on a huge block of black slate, which did not belong to the place, but must have fallen from some vein high up the gorge, and been brought down by wintry floods, a little way at a time, during hundreds of years, till it lay jammed in among the great blocks of granite like a chip in a basin of lumps of sugar. This piece of slate suited Scoodrach’s eye, and he took out his big knife and began to sharpen it.

Long Shon took a little curly sheep’s horn out of his pouch, and had a pinch of snuff.

Tavish filled a dumpy black wooden pipe, and began to smoke; while Kenneth, as he smilingly watched Max, hummed over Black Donald’s bagpipe tune, “The March of the Clan Mackhai.”

“Well,” said Kenneth at last, breaking the silence, through which came a low, deep, humming roar, “what do you think of Dunroe?”

“Think!” cried Max, in a low, deep voice; “it’s heavenly.”

And he stood gazing up the narrow glen, with its intensely dark shadows among the rocks, through which the brilliant sun-rays struck down, making the raindrops which hung upon the delicate leaves of the pendent birches glisten like diamonds.

For it was one beautiful series of pictures at which the lad gazed: patches of vivid blue above, seen through the openings among the trees; right below, the foaming river coming down in a hundred miniature falls; silver-stemmed and ruddy-bronze birches rooting in the sides, and sending their leaves and twigs hanging over like cascades of verdure; pines and spruces rising up on all sides like pyramids of deep, dark green; and everywhere the masses of rock glittering with crystals, and clothed with mosses of the most vivid tints, and among whose crevices the ferns threw up their pointed, softly-laced fronds.

The sunlight glanced down like sheaves of dazzling silver arrows; and over the water, and softly riding down the glen, came soft, filmy clouds of mist, so fine and delicate that they constantly faded into invisibility; while every now and then there were passing glimpses of colour appearing and disappearing over the rushing torrent, as if there had been a rainbow somewhere up above—one which had broken up, and these were its fragments being borne away.

“I never saw anything so beautiful,” said Max, almost wondering at his companion’s want of enthusiasm.

“And do you know what makes it so beautiful?”

“It was made so.”

“Yes; but it is the sun. If a black cloud came over now, and it began to rain, the place would look so gloomy and miserable that you’d want to hurry home.”

“Yes; ta young Chief’s richt,” said Tavish, nodding his head. “It’s ta ferry wettest place I know when ta rain comes doon and ta wind will plow.”

“Let’s go on,” said Kenneth after awhile. “It gets more and more beautiful higher up.”

“It can’t be!” cried Max. “And is this all your father’s property?”

“Yes,” said Kenneth proudly; “this all belongs to The Mackhai.”

“Ant it will aal pelong to ta young Chief some tay, when he crows a pig man.”

Max went on with a sigh, but only to find that the place really did grow more beautiful as they climbed on, while the deep, humming roar grew louder and more awe-inspiring as they penetrated farther and farther into the recesses of the mountain. For the long and heavy rain had charged the fountains of the hills to bursting. Every lakelet was brimming, every patch of moss saturated, and from a thousand channels, that were at first mere threads, the water came rushing down to coalesce in the narrow glen, and eddy, and leap, and swirl, and hurry on toward the sea.

“Why are we climbing up so high?” said Max suddenly.

“To show you our glen, and take you up by the falls.”

A curious shrinking sensation came upon Max, and Kenneth noticed it.

“This isn’t the Grey Mare’s Tail,” he said, laughing; “and we’re not in a boat.”

“I can’t help feeling a little nervous,” said Max frankly. “I am not used to this sort of thing.”

“And we are. Yes, of course. It’s too bad to laugh at you. Come on.”

“Is there any danger?”

“Well, of course there is, if you go and tumble in, but you needn’t go near.”

The humming roar grew louder as they tramped on along a sheep-track in and out among the huge stones which had fallen from the sides of the great gully. Now they were in deep shadow, where brilliant speckled fungi, all white and red, stood out like stools beneath the birch trees; then they were high up on quite a shelf, where the turf and moss were short, and the sun shone out clearly; and ever, as they turned angle after angle of the great zigzag, the roar of the water grew louder, till, after another hour’s slow climbing, they descended a sloping green track and came into a great hollow directly facing them; and a couple of hundred feet overhead, a narrow rift, out of which poured an amber stream of water on to a huge block of rock some twenty feet below, the result being that the great spout of amber water was broken and turned into a sheet of foam, which spread out all over the great block, and fell sheer the rest of the distance, over a hundred and fifty feet, into a vast hollow below. Here it careered round and round, and rushed onward toward where the group were standing, while high above all floated a cloud of fine vapour which resembled white smoke, and upon which played the iridescent colours of half a rainbow, completing the picture in a way which made Max watch it in silent delight.

“Well, what do you think of it?” said Kenneth, who was amused by the London lad’s rapt manner.

“Eh? think?” said Max, starting and colouring.

“Yes. What were you thinking?”

“I was wishing that it was mine—all my own, so that I could come and sit here and think.”

“Well, you may come here and sit and think, but it never will be yours. It has always belonged to the Mackhais ever since they conquered the Mackalps, and took it with claymore and targe. There was a tremendous fight up above there, and, as my ancestors cut down the Mackalps, they threw them into the stream at the top, and there they were shot out over the fall, and carried right out to sea.”

“How horrible!”

“Horrible? Why, it was all considered very brave and grand, and we are very proud of it. There’s a sword down at the castle that they say was used in the great fight.”

“And are you proud of it?”

“I don’t know. I suppose so. Does seem queer, though, to chop chaps with swords and pitch ’em into the water. Rather an awkward place to come down, wouldn’t it, Max?”

“Awful!”

“Well, never mind talking about it. Come up and see.”

“What! climb up there?”

“To be sure. Oh, you needn’t be afraid. It’s quite safe. You go up that narrow path, and get round in among those birch trees, and that brings you out by the top.”

“I—”

“Oh, don’t come if you’re scared,” said Kenneth contemptuously.

Max rose from the stone upon which he had been seated.

“I’m ready,” he said.

“Well, you are a rum chap, Maxy,” cried Kenneth, clapping him on the shoulder. “Sometimes I think you are the jolliest coward I ever saw, and sometimes I think you’ve got plenty of pluck. Which is it?”

“I’m afraid I’m very cowardly,” said Max sadly.

“Oh, come, now I’m sure of it!” cried Kenneth warmly.

“That I am a great coward?”

“No; that you’re full of pluck. My father says that a fellow must be very brave to own he is a coward. Come on.”

They started up the side, with Scoodrach following close behind.

“Going up to ta top o’ ta fa’s, Maister Kenneth?” shouted Long Shon.

“Yes. Coming with us?”

“She’d petter tak’ care,” cried Tavish. “There’s a teal o’ watter, and ta stanes is ferry wat.”

“All right, Tavvy; we’ll mind,” cried Kenneth; and he plunged in among the bushes and rocks, to begin climbing upward in and out, and gradually leaving the rushing waters of the fall behind, while, as the misty foam with its lovely ferny surroundings faded from the eye, the loud splash and roar gradually softened upon the ear till the sound was once more a deep, murmurous hum, which acted as a bass accompaniment to a harsh, wild air which Scoodrach began to sing, or rather bray.

Kenneth stopped short, held back the bushes of hazel dotted with nuts, and turned round to give Max a comical look.

“What’s the matter, Scoody?” he cried. “Eh? ta matter? I only scratched my hand wi’ a bit thorn.”

“Oh! Well, you needn’t make so much noise about it.”

“Noise spout it! She titn’t mak’ nae noise.”

“Yes, you did. You hulloaed horribly.”

“She titn’t. She was chust singing a wee bit sang.”

“Singing? Did you say singing?”

“Ay, she was chust singing ta Allambogle.”

“Do you hear that, Maxy? he thinks he was singing.”

“Wah!” ejaculated Scoodrach; and the little party climbed on, with Max wondering how anybody could find breath to make such a noise when climbing up so great a steep.

In a few minutes the sound of the fall began to grow louder once more, and a shrinking sensation to attack Max; but he put a bold face upon the matter, and followed close to Kenneth till the latter turned to him.

“Here we are,” he said, “close to the spout.” Max looked, but could see nothing, only a dense tangle of hazel stubbs among the green moss, at whose roots grew endless numbers of fungi, shaped like rough chalices, and of the colour of a ripe apricot.

“I can’t see it.”

“No, not there; but you can here.”

As he spoke, Kenneth divided the bushes, and held them apart for his companion to join him, and the next moment they were standing on the brink of a narrow rift in the rock, so narrow that the bush-tips met overhead, and made the water that glided silently along many feet below look quite dark.

“But that’s not the whole of the water which goes over the fall,” said Max wonderingly.

“Every drop. It’s narrow, but it’s fine and deep, and when it spouts out it falls on to the stones and spreads round so as to look big—makes the most of itself. Now then, are you tired?”

“Yes; my legs ache a bit.”

“Very well, then, this is the nearest way home.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“Jump in here, and the water would carry you right away down to the bathing-cave. Scood and I have sent strings of corks down here, and the stream has carried them right to Dunroe.”

“I think I’d rather walk,” said Max, smiling.

“So would I. Now come on and see where the water falls.”

He led the way, and Max and Scoodrach followed, the latter, who was musically disposed that morning, taking advantage of the noise made by the falls to use it as a cloak to cover his own, with the result that every now and then Max was startled by hearing sounds close behind him remarkably suggestive of Donald Dhu being close upon their track, armed with his pipes, and doing battle with all his might.

“Here you are,” cried Kenneth, brushing through the last of the hazel boughs, and standing out on the rock close to the edge of the great hollow into which the water poured; and the shrinking sensation increased, as Max joined his friend, and found that there was nothing to protect him from falling into the great gulf at whose brink they stood.

All this struck him for the moment, but the dread was swept away by the rush of thought which took its place. For there below, as he gazed down at the falling water arching from the narrow rift into a stony basin, to then rush over the sides and fall in a silvery veil, to the deep chasm fringed with delicate dew—sparkling greenery, amidst whose leaves and boughs floated upward a cloud of white mist, which kept changing, as the sun shone upon it, to green and yellow and violet and orange of many depths of tone, but all dazzlingly bright, one melting into the other and disappearing to reappear in other rainbow hues.

Far below them, toward where the rugged hollow opened out to allow of the escape of the water from the falls, Tavish and Long Shon could be seen, seated on the stones they had chosen, smoking their pipes and basking in company with the dogs, for the warm rays of a sunny day had of late been rare.

“There’s a teal o’ watter in the fa’s,” said Scoodrach gravely.

“Of course there is, stupid, after this rain,” cried Kenneth. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Couldn’t tell her nothing she don’t know,” cried Scoodrach. “She reats books, and goes to school, and learns efferything.”

“That’s just what the masters say I don’t do, Scoody. Here, let’s go down to the basin.”

“What! get down there?” cried Max in horror, as Kenneth seated himself on the edge of the stony channel through which the water came down from the mountain before making its leap.

“Yes; it’s easy enough,” cried Kenneth, dangling his legs to and fro, and making them brush through the fronds of a beautiful fern growing in a crevice. “Scoody and I have often been down.”

“But she shall not go pelow now,” said the young gillie, looking down at the smooth, glassy current. “There’s chust too much watter in ta way.”

“Get out!” cried Kenneth. “Look here, Max: you can get down here to the edge of the water, and follow it to where it makes its first leap, and then get under it to the other side, and clamber on to the edge of the basin where it spreads, and look down. It’s glorious. Come on.”

“Na, she will not come,” cried Scoodrach. “There’s too much watter.”

“You’re a worse coward than Max.”

“Nay, she shall na go,” cried Scoodrach, making a bound to the spot where Kenneth was seated; but quick as thought the lad twisted round, let himself glide down, and, as the young gillie made a dash at his hands, they slid over the moss and grass and were gone.

Kenneth’s merry laugh came up out of the narrow rift, sounding muffled and strange, and the two lads looked down to where he was creeping along, some fifteen feet below them, in the half-darkness of the hollow, and holding on by the pendent roots which issued from the crevices, as he picked his way along the stones, with the water often washing against his feet.

“Come down, Max. Don’t be a coward,” he cried, as he looked up over his shoulder at the two anxious faces, while the hiss, rush, and roar of the water nearly covered with sound his half-heard voice.

“She’s coing to troon herself, ye ken!” cried Scoodrach, stamping his foot with rage. “Come pack, Maister Ken! Do she hear me? Come pack!”

Kenneth probably did not hear the words, but he looked up again and laughed, as he stood near the end of the narrow gully, with the sunny light of the great hollow behind him showing up his form, and at the same time his face was lit up strangely by the weird gleam of a reflection from the rushing, glassy, peat-stained stream as it glided on to the mouth of the gully for its leap.

“She canna stay here and see her young maister troon herself,” cried Scoodrach wildly. “She must go town and ket trooned too.”

“Coming, Scoody?” cried Kenneth, as he half turned round where he stood on a little block of stone, against which the water surged.

Scoodrach was in the act of seating himself upon the edge previous to lowering himself down, and, why he knew not, he hesitated and spoke, half to Max, half to himself.

“She’ll go and trag her pack! she’ll go and trag her pack!” Then he uttered a hoarse cry, for, as they saw Kenneth, framed in as it were by the narrow rock, gazing back at them, while the swift gleaming water swept by his legs, they suddenly noted that he started and made a clutch at an overhanging root which came away in his hands, while the stone upon which he was standing tottered over and disappeared in the rushing water.

But Kenneth was active as a monkey; and, failing in his first attempt to grasp something to support him, he made a second leap and caught at a hazel bough which grew out horizontally above his head.

This time he was successful, and, as the sturdy bough bent and swayed, the lad hung right over the rushing water.

“Chump! Swing and chump, Maister Ken!” cried Scoodrach; and then he was silent, and sat staring wildly, for he realised that he could not help his young master—that there would not be time.

Kenneth was swinging to and fro, the bough dipping and rising and dipping, so low that the water almost touched his feet. As he hung he tried to get a better hold, and made a struggle to go hand over hand to the place where the bough joined the mossy roots.

But it was all in vain. Before he could get his loosened hand past a secondary branch, the rotten root broke away from its insecure hold in the gully wall, and one moment the two spectators saw Kenneth hanging there, his form shown up by the light behind; the next, they saw branch and its holder descend quickly into the glassy water, which was momentarily disturbed by a few leafy twigs standing above its surface, then a hand appeared, then again with half the arm, making a clutch at vacancy, and then there was nothing but the water gliding onward to the opening through which it leaped down into the basin on the top of the spreading rock.

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