Chapter Thirteen.

Chapter Thirteen.An uncomfortable Breakfast.That same night Max fell fast asleep as soon as he was in bed, for never in his career had he used his muscles so much in one day.His rest was dreamless, but he awoke as the turret clock struck six, and lay thinking.It was a glorious morning, for his window was illumined by the sunshine, and he felt warm and comfortable, but all the same he shivered.For a troublesome thought had come to him, and he lay quite sleepless now, listening for Kenneth’s step, feeling quite certain that before many minutes had passed the lad would be hammering at his door, and summoning him to come down and bathe.He shuddered at the idea, for the thought of what he had passed through—the climb down to the cavern with its crystal cold water, the weed-hung rocks, and the plunge, and the way in which he had been given his first lesson in swimming—brought out the perspiration in a cold dew upon his brow.“I will not go again,” he said to himself. “One ought to be half a fish to live in a place like this.”The banging of a door and footsteps were heard.“Here he comes!” muttered Max, and by an involuntary action he caught hold of the bedclothes and drew them tightly up to his chin.No Kenneth.The sun shone brightly, and he could picture the dazzling sheen of the waves as they rippled and flashed. He could picture, too, the golden-brown seaweed and the creamy-drab barnacles on the rocks which had felt so rough and strange to his bare feet.Then a reaction set in. It was so cowardly to refuse to go, and Kenneth and Scood would laugh at him, while to his sensitive nature the jeering would be more painful than the venturing into the water.“But,” he argued to himself, “there is no danger in being laughed at, and, on the other hand, they might get me out—they are so reckless—and drown me.”He shuddered, and then he felt ashamed. He wanted to be as brave as the other lads, and he felt that he must seem to them a miserable coward.“I’m down here, and with the chance of learning all these out-door sports, and I shall try. I will not be so cowardly, and when Kenneth comes I’ll go down and bathe, and try to master all this horrid fright.”As soon as he had bravely come to this determination he felt better, though all of a tremor the while, and his agitation increased as from time to time he heard a sound which his excited imagination told him was the coming of Kenneth.But he did not spring out of bed and begin to dress, so as to be ready when Kenneth came, but lay feeling now uncomfortably hot as he recalled his previous experience in the water, and his terrible—as he termed it—adventure over the fishing, and his being hooked out by Tavish, but all the time he could not help a half suspicion taking root, that, had he been a quick, active lad, accustomed to such things, he would not have been swept off the rock, and, even if he had been, he would have struggled to some shallow place and recovered himself.“I will try!” he said aloud. “I’ll show him that if I am a coward, I am going to master it, and then perhaps they will not tease me and laugh at me so much.”Kenneth did not come, and, in spite of his determination, the boy could not help feeling relieved, as he lay thinking of what a long time it seemed since he came down there, and what adventures he had gone through.Then there were footsteps, and a bang outside the door.Kenneth at last!No; the steps were not like his, and they were going away. It was some one who had brought his boots.Max lay and thought again about the people he had met,—about The Mackhai, and his haughty, distant manner. He did not seem to like his visitor, and yet he was very polite.“Perhaps he doesn’t like my father,” thought Max sadly. “Perhaps—”Perhaps it was being more at ease after his determination to master his cowardice:Perhaps it was from the feeling of relief at the non-appearance of Kenneth:Perhaps it was from having undergone so much exertion on the previous day:Perhaps it was from the bed being so warm and comfortable:Be all this as it may, Max Blande, instead of getting up, dropped off fast asleep.“Max! I say, Max, do you know what time it is?”Max started up in bed, and had hard work to collect his thoughts, as his name was called again, and there was a loud knocking at the door.“Yes, yes; coming!” cried the boy, leaping out of bed, and hurrying on his dressing-gown.“Open the door.”“Yes; I’m coming!”Max opened the door, and Kenneth rushed in.“Come, old lazy-bones!” he cried; “look sharp! It’s a quarter to nine, and the dad will look dirks and daggers if we keep him waiting.”“I—I’m very sorry,” said Max. “I—I dropped off to sleep again. I thought you would come and call me to bathe.”“What was the use? See what a fuss you made yesterday!”“But I meant to come.”“Well, don’t talk, old chap. Look sharp, and dress.”“Yes; but are you going to stay?”“Of course, to help you.”Max felt disposed to rebel, and thought it objectionable.Kenneth saw his looks, and spoke out.“Look here!” he said; “I’ll wait for you in the passage, and look out of the window.”“Oh, thank you!” cried Max, and the next moment he was alone.In a few minutes Max’s bell rang.Kenneth went off on tip-toe, and met Grant, who was coming up-stairs looking rather sulky.Kenneth said something to the butler, who nodded and went down again, while Kenneth went softly back grinning, and stood looking out of the passage window, giving one leg a kick of delight as he heard Max’s bell ring again.Then there was a pause, and at last the bell rang once more.“Ten minutes to nine,” said Kenneth to himself, with a look of suppressed glee.Then Max’s door opened.“Ready?” cried Kenneth.“No. I’m very sorry, but I’ve rung three times, and no one has come.”“P’r’aps Grant is busy with father. What do you want—hot water?”“No,” said Max. “The fact is, I got two pairs of trousers very wet yesterday, and I sent them down to be dried. They haven’t been brought up.”“Oh, is that all?” cried Kenneth. “I’ll run and fetch them.”“Oh, thank you!”Kenneth ran off, and came back at the end of a few minutes, but without the trousers.“Thank you,” said Max hastily. “I’m ashamed to have let— Why, you haven’t got them!”“No,” said Kenneth. “Are you sure you sent them down? Grant says he hasn’t seen them.”“I gave them to one of the maids.”“It’s very strange. No one has seen them. Never mind. Jump into another pair. The guv’nor will be furious if you are late.”“But I’ve lost the key of my portmanteau, and I can’t put on black this morning.”“Oh no, that would never do!” cried Kenneth. “Pop on your knickerbockers.”“I haven’t any.”“No knicks! Oh, I say! what will you do? That blessed gong will be going directly.”“Yes. Shall I put on my dress things?”“No, no, no! You’d make the pater laugh horribly. Here, I tell you what! you and I are about the same size—shall I lend you some of my duds?”“Oh, if you would!” cried Max.“All right!”Kenneth dashed off to his own room, and came back in a minute.“Here you are!” he cried. “Slip on those socks.”“But I’ve got socks.”“But they won’t do. On with these.”“But—”“On with them. The gong will go directly.”Horribly scared at the idea of keeping The Mackhai waiting again, Max obeyed, hardly knowing what he did, and then he made a protest as Kenneth held out a garment for him to put on next.“Oh,” he exclaimed, “I couldn’t put on that!”“But you must. You haven’t a moment to spare; and it’s my best one.”Max shrank, and then yielded, for all at once boom! boom! boom! sounded the gong; and, half frantic with haste and his want of moral courage, the poor boy submitted to the domination of his tormentor, with the result that, five minutes after the gong had ceased, and still hesitating as to whether he had not better stay away, Max followed Kenneth down-stairs, that young gentleman having preceded him two minutes.“The Mackhai is beginning breakfast, sir,” said Grant, as Max came down; and he drew back with a tray full of hot viands, his sour, stony face relaxing into a grin as the shrinking figure of the young guest passed him.“Good morning, Mr Blande!” said The Mackhai sternly; and then his severe face underwent a change. He was about to burst out laughing, but he bit his lip, frowned, and then in a changed tone of voice said, “Thank you for the compliment, Mr Blande.”“It—it was not meant for a compliment, sir,” faltered Max.“Indeed! I thought you had donned our tartan out of compliment to your host.”“It is an accident, sir,” stammered Max, with his face scarlet. “I have lost my clothes, and Kenneth has been kind enough to lend me a suit.”“Oh, I see!” said The Mackhai, as the dogs, which for a treat had been admitted, came sniffing round the shivering lad, who looked pitiably thin and miserable in the kilt, with the sporran hanging down far lower than it should.“It is a very comfortable dress,” said The Mackhai, recovering himself, though, to Kenneth’s delight and Max’s misery, he could not repress a smile. “There, pray, sit down, the breakfast is growing cold.”Max went to his place shrinkingly, for Bruce, the great deerhound, was following close behind him, apparently examining him thoughtfully.“Lie down, Bruce!” said Kenneth, and the dog dropped into a couching attitude. “You look fizzing, Max,” he said, in a low voice, as his father walked to the window and peered out.Max gave him a piteous look, and gladly seated himself, seeming glad of the shelter of the hanging tablecloth, for, after examining him wonderingly, Sneeshing suddenly set up his tail very stiffly and uttered a sharp bark, while Dirk shook his frill out about his neck and uttered a menacing growl, which to poor Max’s ears sounded like, “You miserable impostor, get out of those things!”Just then Grant entered with the portion of the breakfast kept back till Max came down, The Mackhai seated himself, and the breakfast began.As at previous meals, the host was very much abstracted: when he was not partaking of his breakfast, he was reading his letters or referring to the newspaper, leaving the task of entertaining the guest to his son.“How do you feel now?” said Kenneth.“Not very comfortable,” whispered Max. “May I ask Grant to have a good search made for my things?”“Oh no, don’t ask him now. It puts him out. You’ll be all right, and forget all about them soon.”“I—I don’t think I shall,” said Max, as he made a very poor breakfast.“Oh yes, you will. I say, if I were you, I’d write up to my tailor to send you down two rigs-out like that. You’ll find ’em splendid for shooting and fishing.”Max shook his head.“Never mind. Have some of this kipper, it’s—”“Ow!” ejaculated Max, dropping his coffee-cup on the table, so that it upset, and the brown fluid began to spread, as the lad sprang back from the table.“What’s the matter?” cried The Mackhai.“Nothing, sir;—I—that is—that dog—”Kenneth was seized with a violent fit of laughing and choking, which necessitated his getting up from the table and being thumped on the back by Grant; while Dirk, who had been the cause of all the trouble, marched slowly out from under the table, and stood upon the hearthrug uttering a low growl, and looking from one to the other of the boys, as if he felt that they were insulting him.“Look here, Kenneth, if you cannot behave yourself at table,” cried The Mackhai angrily, “you had better have your meals by yourself.”“I—I—oh dear!—oh, oh, oh! I beg your pardon, father, I—oh, I say, Max, don’t look like that, or you’ll kill me!” cried Kenneth, laughing and choking more than ever.“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Max piteously. “I’m afraid it was all my fault;” and he looked at the stained cloth.“There is no need for any apology, Mr Blande. Here, Grant, lay a doubled napkin over this place, and bring another cup. Pray sit down, sir.”Max turned shrinkingly toward the table, but glanced nervously from one dog to the other, and just at that moment, Bruce, who was behind, smelt his legs.“Oh!” cried Max, making a rush, as he felt the touch of the dog’s cold nose.“Here, Kenneth, I’ve said before that I will not have those dogs in the dining-room!” cried The Mackhai angrily. “Turn them out.”Kenneth hastily obeyed, the dogs marching out through the French window, and then sitting down outside and looking patiently in, as dogs gaze who are waiting for bones.“What was the matter, Max?” asked Kenneth, as soon as they were re-seated, and the breakfast once more in progress.“That dog took hold of my leg.”“What, Sneeshing?”“No, no. The one you call Dirk.”“He must have thought it was a sheep’s leg.”“Kenneth!”“Yes, father?”“Go on with your breakfast. I hope you are not hurt, Mr Blande?”“No, sir, not hurt, but it felt very wet and uncomfortable.”“The dog’s play,” said The Mackhai quietly. “I don’t think he would bite.”“No, sir, I hope not,” faltered Max, as he tried to go on with his breakfast; “but it felt as if he was going to, and it was startling.”“Yes, of course!” said The Mackhai absently, as he took up his paper, and the breakfast went on to the end, but to Max it was anything but a pleasant meal.

That same night Max fell fast asleep as soon as he was in bed, for never in his career had he used his muscles so much in one day.

His rest was dreamless, but he awoke as the turret clock struck six, and lay thinking.

It was a glorious morning, for his window was illumined by the sunshine, and he felt warm and comfortable, but all the same he shivered.

For a troublesome thought had come to him, and he lay quite sleepless now, listening for Kenneth’s step, feeling quite certain that before many minutes had passed the lad would be hammering at his door, and summoning him to come down and bathe.

He shuddered at the idea, for the thought of what he had passed through—the climb down to the cavern with its crystal cold water, the weed-hung rocks, and the plunge, and the way in which he had been given his first lesson in swimming—brought out the perspiration in a cold dew upon his brow.

“I will not go again,” he said to himself. “One ought to be half a fish to live in a place like this.”

The banging of a door and footsteps were heard.

“Here he comes!” muttered Max, and by an involuntary action he caught hold of the bedclothes and drew them tightly up to his chin.

No Kenneth.

The sun shone brightly, and he could picture the dazzling sheen of the waves as they rippled and flashed. He could picture, too, the golden-brown seaweed and the creamy-drab barnacles on the rocks which had felt so rough and strange to his bare feet.

Then a reaction set in. It was so cowardly to refuse to go, and Kenneth and Scood would laugh at him, while to his sensitive nature the jeering would be more painful than the venturing into the water.

“But,” he argued to himself, “there is no danger in being laughed at, and, on the other hand, they might get me out—they are so reckless—and drown me.”

He shuddered, and then he felt ashamed. He wanted to be as brave as the other lads, and he felt that he must seem to them a miserable coward.

“I’m down here, and with the chance of learning all these out-door sports, and I shall try. I will not be so cowardly, and when Kenneth comes I’ll go down and bathe, and try to master all this horrid fright.”

As soon as he had bravely come to this determination he felt better, though all of a tremor the while, and his agitation increased as from time to time he heard a sound which his excited imagination told him was the coming of Kenneth.

But he did not spring out of bed and begin to dress, so as to be ready when Kenneth came, but lay feeling now uncomfortably hot as he recalled his previous experience in the water, and his terrible—as he termed it—adventure over the fishing, and his being hooked out by Tavish, but all the time he could not help a half suspicion taking root, that, had he been a quick, active lad, accustomed to such things, he would not have been swept off the rock, and, even if he had been, he would have struggled to some shallow place and recovered himself.

“I will try!” he said aloud. “I’ll show him that if I am a coward, I am going to master it, and then perhaps they will not tease me and laugh at me so much.”

Kenneth did not come, and, in spite of his determination, the boy could not help feeling relieved, as he lay thinking of what a long time it seemed since he came down there, and what adventures he had gone through.

Then there were footsteps, and a bang outside the door.

Kenneth at last!

No; the steps were not like his, and they were going away. It was some one who had brought his boots.

Max lay and thought again about the people he had met,—about The Mackhai, and his haughty, distant manner. He did not seem to like his visitor, and yet he was very polite.

“Perhaps he doesn’t like my father,” thought Max sadly. “Perhaps—”

Perhaps it was being more at ease after his determination to master his cowardice:

Perhaps it was from the feeling of relief at the non-appearance of Kenneth:

Perhaps it was from having undergone so much exertion on the previous day:

Perhaps it was from the bed being so warm and comfortable:

Be all this as it may, Max Blande, instead of getting up, dropped off fast asleep.

“Max! I say, Max, do you know what time it is?”

Max started up in bed, and had hard work to collect his thoughts, as his name was called again, and there was a loud knocking at the door.

“Yes, yes; coming!” cried the boy, leaping out of bed, and hurrying on his dressing-gown.

“Open the door.”

“Yes; I’m coming!”

Max opened the door, and Kenneth rushed in.

“Come, old lazy-bones!” he cried; “look sharp! It’s a quarter to nine, and the dad will look dirks and daggers if we keep him waiting.”

“I—I’m very sorry,” said Max. “I—I dropped off to sleep again. I thought you would come and call me to bathe.”

“What was the use? See what a fuss you made yesterday!”

“But I meant to come.”

“Well, don’t talk, old chap. Look sharp, and dress.”

“Yes; but are you going to stay?”

“Of course, to help you.”

Max felt disposed to rebel, and thought it objectionable.

Kenneth saw his looks, and spoke out.

“Look here!” he said; “I’ll wait for you in the passage, and look out of the window.”

“Oh, thank you!” cried Max, and the next moment he was alone.

In a few minutes Max’s bell rang.

Kenneth went off on tip-toe, and met Grant, who was coming up-stairs looking rather sulky.

Kenneth said something to the butler, who nodded and went down again, while Kenneth went softly back grinning, and stood looking out of the passage window, giving one leg a kick of delight as he heard Max’s bell ring again.

Then there was a pause, and at last the bell rang once more.

“Ten minutes to nine,” said Kenneth to himself, with a look of suppressed glee.

Then Max’s door opened.

“Ready?” cried Kenneth.

“No. I’m very sorry, but I’ve rung three times, and no one has come.”

“P’r’aps Grant is busy with father. What do you want—hot water?”

“No,” said Max. “The fact is, I got two pairs of trousers very wet yesterday, and I sent them down to be dried. They haven’t been brought up.”

“Oh, is that all?” cried Kenneth. “I’ll run and fetch them.”

“Oh, thank you!”

Kenneth ran off, and came back at the end of a few minutes, but without the trousers.

“Thank you,” said Max hastily. “I’m ashamed to have let— Why, you haven’t got them!”

“No,” said Kenneth. “Are you sure you sent them down? Grant says he hasn’t seen them.”

“I gave them to one of the maids.”

“It’s very strange. No one has seen them. Never mind. Jump into another pair. The guv’nor will be furious if you are late.”

“But I’ve lost the key of my portmanteau, and I can’t put on black this morning.”

“Oh no, that would never do!” cried Kenneth. “Pop on your knickerbockers.”

“I haven’t any.”

“No knicks! Oh, I say! what will you do? That blessed gong will be going directly.”

“Yes. Shall I put on my dress things?”

“No, no, no! You’d make the pater laugh horribly. Here, I tell you what! you and I are about the same size—shall I lend you some of my duds?”

“Oh, if you would!” cried Max.

“All right!”

Kenneth dashed off to his own room, and came back in a minute.

“Here you are!” he cried. “Slip on those socks.”

“But I’ve got socks.”

“But they won’t do. On with these.”

“But—”

“On with them. The gong will go directly.”

Horribly scared at the idea of keeping The Mackhai waiting again, Max obeyed, hardly knowing what he did, and then he made a protest as Kenneth held out a garment for him to put on next.

“Oh,” he exclaimed, “I couldn’t put on that!”

“But you must. You haven’t a moment to spare; and it’s my best one.”

Max shrank, and then yielded, for all at once boom! boom! boom! sounded the gong; and, half frantic with haste and his want of moral courage, the poor boy submitted to the domination of his tormentor, with the result that, five minutes after the gong had ceased, and still hesitating as to whether he had not better stay away, Max followed Kenneth down-stairs, that young gentleman having preceded him two minutes.

“The Mackhai is beginning breakfast, sir,” said Grant, as Max came down; and he drew back with a tray full of hot viands, his sour, stony face relaxing into a grin as the shrinking figure of the young guest passed him.

“Good morning, Mr Blande!” said The Mackhai sternly; and then his severe face underwent a change. He was about to burst out laughing, but he bit his lip, frowned, and then in a changed tone of voice said, “Thank you for the compliment, Mr Blande.”

“It—it was not meant for a compliment, sir,” faltered Max.

“Indeed! I thought you had donned our tartan out of compliment to your host.”

“It is an accident, sir,” stammered Max, with his face scarlet. “I have lost my clothes, and Kenneth has been kind enough to lend me a suit.”

“Oh, I see!” said The Mackhai, as the dogs, which for a treat had been admitted, came sniffing round the shivering lad, who looked pitiably thin and miserable in the kilt, with the sporran hanging down far lower than it should.

“It is a very comfortable dress,” said The Mackhai, recovering himself, though, to Kenneth’s delight and Max’s misery, he could not repress a smile. “There, pray, sit down, the breakfast is growing cold.”

Max went to his place shrinkingly, for Bruce, the great deerhound, was following close behind him, apparently examining him thoughtfully.

“Lie down, Bruce!” said Kenneth, and the dog dropped into a couching attitude. “You look fizzing, Max,” he said, in a low voice, as his father walked to the window and peered out.

Max gave him a piteous look, and gladly seated himself, seeming glad of the shelter of the hanging tablecloth, for, after examining him wonderingly, Sneeshing suddenly set up his tail very stiffly and uttered a sharp bark, while Dirk shook his frill out about his neck and uttered a menacing growl, which to poor Max’s ears sounded like, “You miserable impostor, get out of those things!”

Just then Grant entered with the portion of the breakfast kept back till Max came down, The Mackhai seated himself, and the breakfast began.

As at previous meals, the host was very much abstracted: when he was not partaking of his breakfast, he was reading his letters or referring to the newspaper, leaving the task of entertaining the guest to his son.

“How do you feel now?” said Kenneth.

“Not very comfortable,” whispered Max. “May I ask Grant to have a good search made for my things?”

“Oh no, don’t ask him now. It puts him out. You’ll be all right, and forget all about them soon.”

“I—I don’t think I shall,” said Max, as he made a very poor breakfast.

“Oh yes, you will. I say, if I were you, I’d write up to my tailor to send you down two rigs-out like that. You’ll find ’em splendid for shooting and fishing.”

Max shook his head.

“Never mind. Have some of this kipper, it’s—”

“Ow!” ejaculated Max, dropping his coffee-cup on the table, so that it upset, and the brown fluid began to spread, as the lad sprang back from the table.

“What’s the matter?” cried The Mackhai.

“Nothing, sir;—I—that is—that dog—”

Kenneth was seized with a violent fit of laughing and choking, which necessitated his getting up from the table and being thumped on the back by Grant; while Dirk, who had been the cause of all the trouble, marched slowly out from under the table, and stood upon the hearthrug uttering a low growl, and looking from one to the other of the boys, as if he felt that they were insulting him.

“Look here, Kenneth, if you cannot behave yourself at table,” cried The Mackhai angrily, “you had better have your meals by yourself.”

“I—I—oh dear!—oh, oh, oh! I beg your pardon, father, I—oh, I say, Max, don’t look like that, or you’ll kill me!” cried Kenneth, laughing and choking more than ever.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Max piteously. “I’m afraid it was all my fault;” and he looked at the stained cloth.

“There is no need for any apology, Mr Blande. Here, Grant, lay a doubled napkin over this place, and bring another cup. Pray sit down, sir.”

Max turned shrinkingly toward the table, but glanced nervously from one dog to the other, and just at that moment, Bruce, who was behind, smelt his legs.

“Oh!” cried Max, making a rush, as he felt the touch of the dog’s cold nose.

“Here, Kenneth, I’ve said before that I will not have those dogs in the dining-room!” cried The Mackhai angrily. “Turn them out.”

Kenneth hastily obeyed, the dogs marching out through the French window, and then sitting down outside and looking patiently in, as dogs gaze who are waiting for bones.

“What was the matter, Max?” asked Kenneth, as soon as they were re-seated, and the breakfast once more in progress.

“That dog took hold of my leg.”

“What, Sneeshing?”

“No, no. The one you call Dirk.”

“He must have thought it was a sheep’s leg.”

“Kenneth!”

“Yes, father?”

“Go on with your breakfast. I hope you are not hurt, Mr Blande?”

“No, sir, not hurt, but it felt very wet and uncomfortable.”

“The dog’s play,” said The Mackhai quietly. “I don’t think he would bite.”

“No, sir, I hope not,” faltered Max, as he tried to go on with his breakfast; “but it felt as if he was going to, and it was startling.”

“Yes, of course!” said The Mackhai absently, as he took up his paper, and the breakfast went on to the end, but to Max it was anything but a pleasant meal.

Chapter Fourteen.Macrimmon’s Lament.“No, sir, I’ve asked everybody, and no one has seen them since Bridget put them to dry. She says they were in front of the fire when she went to bed.”This was Grant’s reply to Max’s earnest prayer that he would try and find his trousers.“Do you think they could have been stolen?” said Max doubtingly.“Stolen! My goodness, sir! do you think there is any one about this house who would steal young gentlemen’s trousers?”“Oh no, of course not,” said Max; “but could you get a man to pick a lock?”“Pick a pocket, sir!” cried Grant indignantly, for he had not fully caught Max’s question.“No, no—a lock. I lost the key of my small portmanteau as I came here, and I can’t get at my clothes.”“No, sir, there is no one nearer than Stirling that we could get to do that.”“Oh, never mind, Max,” cried Kenneth, coming in after leaving his visitor for some little time in the drawing-room; “the trousers’ll turn up soon, and if they don’t, you’ll do as you are. He looks fizzing, don’t he, Granty?”“Yes, sir, that he do,” replied the butler, compressing his lips into a thin line.“Only his legs look just a little too white,” continued Kenneth.“You are both laughing at me,” said Max sadly.“No, no, nonsense! There, come on out.”“Like this?”“Of course. It’s no worse for you than it is for me. Come along.”Max felt as if he could not help himself, and, yielding to the pressure, he followed his young host out on to the terrace-like rock, where they were joined by Scoodrach, who came up with his eyes so wide open that they showed the whites all round.As the red-headed lad came up, he essayed to speak, but only made an explosive sound.“Look here, Scood, if you laugh, Max Blande will pitch you overboard. Now then, what is it?”“Tonald—”“Well, what about Donald?”“She’s chust waitin’ for the young chentleman.”“Where?”“In ta castle yaird.”“What does he want?” said Kenneth seriously. “Here, Max, let’s go and see.”Max was not sorry to follow his young host into the shelter of the castle ruins, for there was a good deal of breeze off the sea; and, as soon as the three lads were in the shady quadrangle, old Donald Dhu came out of the ruined entry at the corner tower he affected.As soon as the old man was well outside, he stood shading his dim eyes with one bony hand, bending forward and gazing at Max, looking him up and down in a way which was most embarrassing to the visitor, but which made the boys’ eyes sparkle with delight.Max felt ready to run back to his room and lock himself in, but, to his relief, the old man did not burst into a fit of laughing, for a grave smile overspread his venerable face.“She wass a prave poy,” he said, laying a claw-like hand upon Max’s shoulder, “and she shall wear ta kilt petter some day.”Then, motioning to him mysteriously with his free hand, he beckoned him slowly toward the entry to the spiral staircase, and Max yielded, though he longed to escape.“What does he want, Kenneth?”“Got something to say to you, I suppose. Don’t be long, and we’ll have the boat ready for a sail.”“But—”“I say, don’t stop talking; it may make the old boy wild, and if you do—”Kenneth did not finish his sentence, but made a peculiar cluck with his tongue—a sound which might have meant anything.All this time the old man stood, with his flowing white locks and beard, motioning to Max to come; and unwillingly enough he entered the old tower, and climbed cautiously up, avoiding the broken places, and finally reaching the chamber in the top.“She shall sit town there,” said the old man, pointing to a stool set in the ruinous fireplace; and, without the slightest idea of what was going to happen, Max seated himself and waited to hear what the piper had to say.He was not kept long in suspense, for the old man said, with a benevolent look on his ancient face,—“She lo’es ta pipes, and she shall hear them the noo, for they’re mentit up, and tere’s nae music like them in ta wide world.”As he spoke, he raised the lid of a worm-eaten old chest, and, smiling the while, took out the instrument, placed the green baize-covered bag under one arm, arranged the long pipes over his shoulder, and, inflating his cheeks, seemed to mount guard over the doorway, making Max a complete prisoner, and sending a thrill of misery through him, as, after producing a few sounds, the old man took the mouthpiece from his lips, and said, with a smile,—“‘Macrimmon’s Lament.’”Max felt as if he should like to stick his fingers in his ears, but he dared not,—as if he should like to rush down the stairs, but he could not. For the old man fixed him with his eyes, and, keeping his head turned towards his prisoner, began to march up and down the broken stone floor, and blew so wild a dirge that in a few moments it became almost maddening.For Max Blande’s nerves, from the retired London life he had led, were sensitive to a degree. He had never had them strung up by open-air sports or life among the hills, but had passed his time in study, reading almost incessantly; though even to the ears of an athlete, if he were shut up in a small chamber with a piper, the strains evoked from this extremely penetrating instrument might jar.As Donald marched up and down in a pace that was half trot, half dance, his eyes brightened and sparkled; his yellow cheeks flushed as they were puffed out; and, as he went to and fro before the window, the sea-breeze made his long hair and beard stream out behind, giving him a wild, weird aspect that was almost startling, as it helped to impress Max with a feeling of awe which fixed him to his chair. For if he dared to rise he felt that he would be offering a deadly affront to the old minstrel, one which, hot-blooded Highlander as he was, he might resent with his dirk, or perhaps do him a mischief in a more simple manner, by spurning him with his foot as he retreated—in other words, kick him down-stairs.And those were such stairs!Northern people praise the bagpipes, and your genuine Highlander would sooner die than own it was not the “pravest” music ever made. He will tell you that to hear it to perfection you must have it on the mountain side, or away upon some glorious Scottish loch. This is the truth, for undoubtedly the bagpipes are then at their best, and the farther off upon the mountain, or the wider the loch, the better.But Max was hearing the music in a bare-walled, echoing chamber, and, but for the fact that there was hardly any roof, there is no saying what might have been the consequences. For Donald blew till his cheeks were as tightly distended as the bag, while chanter and drone burred and buzzed, and screamed and wailed, as if twin pigs were being ornamented with nose-rings, and their affectionate mamma was all the time bemoaning the sufferings of her offspring, “Macrimmon’s Lament” might have been the old piper’s lamentation given forth in sorrow because obliged to make so terribly ear-shrilling a noise.But, like most things, it came to an end, and with a sigh of relief Max sprang up to exclaim, as if he had been in a London drawing-room, and some one had just obliged,—“Oh, thank you!”“She’s a gran’ chune,” said Donald, pressing forward, and as it were backing poor Max into the seat from which he had sprung. “Noo she’ll gie ye ‘Ta Mairch o’ ta Mackhais.’”Max suppressed a groan, as the old man drew himself up and produced half a dozen sonorous burring groans from the drone.Then there was a pause, and Donald dropped the mouthpiece from his lips.“She forgot to say tat she composed ta mairch in honour of the Chief hersel’.”Then he blew up the bag again, and there came forth a tremendous wail, wild and piercing, and making a curious shudder run up and down Max’s backbone, while directly after, as he was debating within himself whether he might not make some excuse about Kenneth waiting, so as to get away, the old man marched up and down, playing as proudly as if he were at the head of a clan of fighting men.All at once, sounding like an echo, there came from somewhere below a piteous yell, long-drawn and wild, and doleful as the strains of the pipes.The effect was magical. The old man ceased playing, his face grew distorted, and he stamped furiously upon the floor.“It’s tat Sneeshing,” he cried, laying down the pipes and making a snatch at his dirk, but only to thrust it back, dart at a great stone which had fallen in from the side of the window, and, seizing it, whirl it up and dash it out of the broken opening down into the court where the dog was howling.There was a crash, a snapping, wailing howl, and then all was silent.“She hopes she has killed ta tog,” cried the old man, as he gathered up his pipes again, and once more began to march up and down and blow.The fierce burst of tempestuous rage and the accompanying actions were not without their effect upon Max, who shrank back now helpless and aghast, staring at the old piper, whose face grew smoother again, as he gave his visitor an encouraging smile and played away with all his might.Would it never end—that weary, weary march—that long musical journey? It was in a minor key, and anything more depressing it was impossible to conceive. Like the pieces played by WS Gilbert’s piper, there was nothing in it resembling an air, but Donald played on and on right to the bitter end, when once more Max began to breathe, and again he said,—“Thank you.”“She hasn’t tone yet,” said Donald, smiling. “She does not often ket a young chentleman like yersel’ who lo’es ta coot music, and she’ll keep on playing to ye all tay. Ye shall noo hae something lively.”Before Max could speak, the old man blew away, and wailed and burred out what was probably intended for “Maggie Lauder;” but this was changed into “Tullochgorum,” and back again, with frills, and puckers, and bows, and streamers, formed of other airs, used to decorate what was evidently meant for a grandmélangeto display the capabilities of the national instrument.Just when this wonderful stream of maddening notes was at its highest pitch, and Max Blande was at his lowest, and feeling as if he would like to throw himself down upon the floor and cry, he became aware of the fact that Kenneth and Scoodrach were up above, gazing down at him from the ruined wall on the side where the chamber was roofless.Old Donald was right below them and could not see, even had he been less intent and out of his musical dreaming, instead of tramping up and down, evidently supremely happy at the diversity of noises he made.Max seized the opportunity of Donald’s back being turned, and made a sign to them to come down; but they only laughed, keeping their heads just in sight, Scoodrach’s disappearing and bobbing about from time to time, as he grinned and threw up his fingers, and seemed to be going through the motions of one dancing a reel.Max would have shouted to them to come down, but at the thought of doing so a feeling of nervous trepidation came over him. Donald had looked half wild when the dog interrupted him; how would he behave if he were interrupted again, just as he was in this rapt state, and playing away with all his might?The lad subsided in his seat, and with wrinkled brow gazed from the piper to the heads of the two boys, both of whom were laughing, and evidently enjoying his misery.And now for the first time it struck Max that he had been inveigled up there through the planning of Kenneth, who knew his dislike to the pipes, and had told Donald that he was anxious to hear him play.His face must have been expressive, for Kenneth was laughing at him, and whispered something to Scoodrach, who covered his mouth with his hands, and seemed to roar to such an extent that he was obliged to bend down.As Scoodrach reappeared, he climbed up so as to lie flat on the top of the wall, leaning his head down when Donald came toward him, and raising it again as the old man turned.The medley of Scottish airs ceased, and at last Max thought his penance was at an end, but in an instant the old man began again blowing hard, and playing a few solemn notes before approaching quite close to Max, taking his lips from the mouthpiece and whispering sharply,—“Ta Dirge o’ Dunloch.”Then whang! wha! on went the depressing strain Sneeshing being heard to howl in the distance.Max felt as if he must run, and in his despondency and horror, knowing as he did that if he did not do something the old half-crazy piper would keep him shut up there and play to him all day, he waited till Donald had approached close to him, and, as the old man turned, he stretched out a leg ready. Then, waiting till he had been across the room, come back, and was turning again, Max cautiously slipped off his seat, and was about to dash for the door, when there was a shout, a scuffle, a thud, an awful pipe yell, and Donald came staggering back, uttering a series of wild Gaelic ejaculations in his surprise.The cause of the interruption was plain enough: Scood had rolled off the top of the wall feet first, clung with his hands, and in his efforts to recover himself and get back he had kicked out one leg so sharply that it had come in contact with the bag of the pipes, producing the wild yell, and sending the old man staggering back.As soon as he fully realised what was the matter, the old man uttered a howl of rage, laid down his pipes, and rushed across at Scoodrach, who had half scrambled back.Donald’s attack altered his position, for the old man seized him about the hips by the kilt, and dragged at him to get him down, just as Kenneth was holding him tightly and trying to pull him up, Scood seconding his efforts by clinging to him with all his strength.What followed did not take many moments, for Donald had every advantage on his side. He hauled, and Kenneth hauled, while Scood clung to his companion with tremendous tenacity.“Pull! pull!” shouted Scoodrach to Kenneth; but the latter could not pull for laughing. And besides, he had the whole of the young gillie’s weight to bear, while his foothold was exceedingly insecure.The old piper uttered some fierce words in Gaelic, to which Scoodrach replied in the same tongue; and then, finding how helpless he was, and little likely to be drawn up while Donald was clinging to him, he drew in his legs and then kicked them out again, like one swimming, or, a better comparison, like a grasshopper in the act of taking a leap.Scoodrach was as strong as one of the rough ponies of the place, while old Donald’s days for display of muscular strength had long gone by. Consequently he was drawn to and fro as Scoodrach kicked, and was finally thrown off, to go down backwards into a sitting position.“Now pull, Maister Ken,” shouted Scoodrach. “Heave her up, or she’ll hae that mad blawblether at her again.”Kenneth pulled, laughing more than ever, as Scoodrach held on by his jacket; and just then the gillie managed to get a foot in a hole whence a stone had been dislodged. Raising himself up a little, Kenneth now began to pull in earnest; but it was too late. Old Donald had struggled up and seized Scoodrach once more, giving so heavy a drag upon him that down came the young gillie, and not alone, for he dragged Kenneth with him; and all three lay together in a struggling heap upon the floor.“Rin, Maister Ken! Rin, young chentleman! Doon wi’ ye! She’ll be like a daft quey the noo. I can haud her till ye get doon.”“No, no, Scood, I won’t run!” cried Kenneth. “You run, Max. Get down with you.”Max obeyed, glad of the opportunity for escape; but as soon as he had passed through the door he turned, and looked in at the struggle going on.To his horror, they more than once drew so near to the hole in the floor that it seemed as if they must go through; but they all wrenched themselves clear, and Scoodrach suddenly got free, leaped up, and drew his dirk.“Oh!” cried Max in horror.“Put away that knife, Scood, and run!” cried Kenneth.“She’ll niver rin frae ta auld piper!” cried Scoodrach; and, turning to the box on which lay the pipes, he caught them up, and held them with the point of his keen knife close to the skin bag.“Noo,” he shouted, “haud off an’ let the young maister go, or I’ll slit the bag’s weam.”“Ah!” shouted old Donald.“Ay, but I will!” yelled Scoodrach, with the point of his keen knife denting in the bag.“Ah!” shouted the old piper again; and he made a movement toward the boy.But Scoodrach was too quick. He stepped back, raised his arm, and seemed about to plunge the knife through the green baize.“She’ll preak her heart,” groaned the old piper.“Shall she let her go, then?” cried Scoodrach.The old man caught hold of his hair by handfuls and gave it a tremendous tug.“Don’t cut, Scood,” cried Kenneth.“Go on down, and she shall come aifter. She’ll slit ta bahg oop if Tonald ton’t sit town.”The old man’s breast heaved, and he gazed piteously at his instrument; following Scoodrach slowly, as that young gentleman edged round by the side of the wall till he reached the door, through which Kenneth had passed, and where he was now standing holding on by Max, both being intensely interested spectators of the scene.“Rip her recht up,” cried Scoodrach. “Noo, Maister Kenneth, are ye ready?”“Yes.”“Down wi’ ye, then. He canna catch us there. Noo, Tonald, catch.”He threw the pipes at the old man, and then darted through the narrow opening, and followed the others down the spiral stairs at such a rate that an accident seemed certain; but they reached the bottom in safety, and stood at last in the courtyard, laughing and cheering.“Tonal’!” shouted Scoodrach; and he added something in Gaelic.The effect was to bring the old piper’s head and shoulders out of the narrow broken window opening, where he stood, hugging the pipes in one hand, and shaking the other menacingly.Then, changing his manner, he began to beckon with his great claw-like hand.“Nivver mind him, laddie. Come up here and I’ll play ye Macrimmon owre again.”“No, no!” exclaimed Max earnestly.“Says he’s afraid you’d blow the roof off, Tonal’,” shouted Kenneth. “No time. He’s coming along with us;” and he led Max, to his very great delight, out through the old arch on to the broad terrace by the sea. But they had not gone many yards before they heard old Donald again piping away, with no other audience but the jackdaws, which came and settled near, and looked at him sideways, too much used to the wild strains to be alarmed, and knowing from experience that the old piper would pay no heed to them.

“No, sir, I’ve asked everybody, and no one has seen them since Bridget put them to dry. She says they were in front of the fire when she went to bed.”

This was Grant’s reply to Max’s earnest prayer that he would try and find his trousers.

“Do you think they could have been stolen?” said Max doubtingly.

“Stolen! My goodness, sir! do you think there is any one about this house who would steal young gentlemen’s trousers?”

“Oh no, of course not,” said Max; “but could you get a man to pick a lock?”

“Pick a pocket, sir!” cried Grant indignantly, for he had not fully caught Max’s question.

“No, no—a lock. I lost the key of my small portmanteau as I came here, and I can’t get at my clothes.”

“No, sir, there is no one nearer than Stirling that we could get to do that.”

“Oh, never mind, Max,” cried Kenneth, coming in after leaving his visitor for some little time in the drawing-room; “the trousers’ll turn up soon, and if they don’t, you’ll do as you are. He looks fizzing, don’t he, Granty?”

“Yes, sir, that he do,” replied the butler, compressing his lips into a thin line.

“Only his legs look just a little too white,” continued Kenneth.

“You are both laughing at me,” said Max sadly.

“No, no, nonsense! There, come on out.”

“Like this?”

“Of course. It’s no worse for you than it is for me. Come along.”

Max felt as if he could not help himself, and, yielding to the pressure, he followed his young host out on to the terrace-like rock, where they were joined by Scoodrach, who came up with his eyes so wide open that they showed the whites all round.

As the red-headed lad came up, he essayed to speak, but only made an explosive sound.

“Look here, Scood, if you laugh, Max Blande will pitch you overboard. Now then, what is it?”

“Tonald—”

“Well, what about Donald?”

“She’s chust waitin’ for the young chentleman.”

“Where?”

“In ta castle yaird.”

“What does he want?” said Kenneth seriously. “Here, Max, let’s go and see.”

Max was not sorry to follow his young host into the shelter of the castle ruins, for there was a good deal of breeze off the sea; and, as soon as the three lads were in the shady quadrangle, old Donald Dhu came out of the ruined entry at the corner tower he affected.

As soon as the old man was well outside, he stood shading his dim eyes with one bony hand, bending forward and gazing at Max, looking him up and down in a way which was most embarrassing to the visitor, but which made the boys’ eyes sparkle with delight.

Max felt ready to run back to his room and lock himself in, but, to his relief, the old man did not burst into a fit of laughing, for a grave smile overspread his venerable face.

“She wass a prave poy,” he said, laying a claw-like hand upon Max’s shoulder, “and she shall wear ta kilt petter some day.”

Then, motioning to him mysteriously with his free hand, he beckoned him slowly toward the entry to the spiral staircase, and Max yielded, though he longed to escape.

“What does he want, Kenneth?”

“Got something to say to you, I suppose. Don’t be long, and we’ll have the boat ready for a sail.”

“But—”

“I say, don’t stop talking; it may make the old boy wild, and if you do—”

Kenneth did not finish his sentence, but made a peculiar cluck with his tongue—a sound which might have meant anything.

All this time the old man stood, with his flowing white locks and beard, motioning to Max to come; and unwillingly enough he entered the old tower, and climbed cautiously up, avoiding the broken places, and finally reaching the chamber in the top.

“She shall sit town there,” said the old man, pointing to a stool set in the ruinous fireplace; and, without the slightest idea of what was going to happen, Max seated himself and waited to hear what the piper had to say.

He was not kept long in suspense, for the old man said, with a benevolent look on his ancient face,—

“She lo’es ta pipes, and she shall hear them the noo, for they’re mentit up, and tere’s nae music like them in ta wide world.”

As he spoke, he raised the lid of a worm-eaten old chest, and, smiling the while, took out the instrument, placed the green baize-covered bag under one arm, arranged the long pipes over his shoulder, and, inflating his cheeks, seemed to mount guard over the doorway, making Max a complete prisoner, and sending a thrill of misery through him, as, after producing a few sounds, the old man took the mouthpiece from his lips, and said, with a smile,—

“‘Macrimmon’s Lament.’”

Max felt as if he should like to stick his fingers in his ears, but he dared not,—as if he should like to rush down the stairs, but he could not. For the old man fixed him with his eyes, and, keeping his head turned towards his prisoner, began to march up and down the broken stone floor, and blew so wild a dirge that in a few moments it became almost maddening.

For Max Blande’s nerves, from the retired London life he had led, were sensitive to a degree. He had never had them strung up by open-air sports or life among the hills, but had passed his time in study, reading almost incessantly; though even to the ears of an athlete, if he were shut up in a small chamber with a piper, the strains evoked from this extremely penetrating instrument might jar.

As Donald marched up and down in a pace that was half trot, half dance, his eyes brightened and sparkled; his yellow cheeks flushed as they were puffed out; and, as he went to and fro before the window, the sea-breeze made his long hair and beard stream out behind, giving him a wild, weird aspect that was almost startling, as it helped to impress Max with a feeling of awe which fixed him to his chair. For if he dared to rise he felt that he would be offering a deadly affront to the old minstrel, one which, hot-blooded Highlander as he was, he might resent with his dirk, or perhaps do him a mischief in a more simple manner, by spurning him with his foot as he retreated—in other words, kick him down-stairs.

And those were such stairs!

Northern people praise the bagpipes, and your genuine Highlander would sooner die than own it was not the “pravest” music ever made. He will tell you that to hear it to perfection you must have it on the mountain side, or away upon some glorious Scottish loch. This is the truth, for undoubtedly the bagpipes are then at their best, and the farther off upon the mountain, or the wider the loch, the better.

But Max was hearing the music in a bare-walled, echoing chamber, and, but for the fact that there was hardly any roof, there is no saying what might have been the consequences. For Donald blew till his cheeks were as tightly distended as the bag, while chanter and drone burred and buzzed, and screamed and wailed, as if twin pigs were being ornamented with nose-rings, and their affectionate mamma was all the time bemoaning the sufferings of her offspring, “Macrimmon’s Lament” might have been the old piper’s lamentation given forth in sorrow because obliged to make so terribly ear-shrilling a noise.

But, like most things, it came to an end, and with a sigh of relief Max sprang up to exclaim, as if he had been in a London drawing-room, and some one had just obliged,—

“Oh, thank you!”

“She’s a gran’ chune,” said Donald, pressing forward, and as it were backing poor Max into the seat from which he had sprung. “Noo she’ll gie ye ‘Ta Mairch o’ ta Mackhais.’”

Max suppressed a groan, as the old man drew himself up and produced half a dozen sonorous burring groans from the drone.

Then there was a pause, and Donald dropped the mouthpiece from his lips.

“She forgot to say tat she composed ta mairch in honour of the Chief hersel’.”

Then he blew up the bag again, and there came forth a tremendous wail, wild and piercing, and making a curious shudder run up and down Max’s backbone, while directly after, as he was debating within himself whether he might not make some excuse about Kenneth waiting, so as to get away, the old man marched up and down, playing as proudly as if he were at the head of a clan of fighting men.

All at once, sounding like an echo, there came from somewhere below a piteous yell, long-drawn and wild, and doleful as the strains of the pipes.

The effect was magical. The old man ceased playing, his face grew distorted, and he stamped furiously upon the floor.

“It’s tat Sneeshing,” he cried, laying down the pipes and making a snatch at his dirk, but only to thrust it back, dart at a great stone which had fallen in from the side of the window, and, seizing it, whirl it up and dash it out of the broken opening down into the court where the dog was howling.

There was a crash, a snapping, wailing howl, and then all was silent.

“She hopes she has killed ta tog,” cried the old man, as he gathered up his pipes again, and once more began to march up and down and blow.

The fierce burst of tempestuous rage and the accompanying actions were not without their effect upon Max, who shrank back now helpless and aghast, staring at the old piper, whose face grew smoother again, as he gave his visitor an encouraging smile and played away with all his might.

Would it never end—that weary, weary march—that long musical journey? It was in a minor key, and anything more depressing it was impossible to conceive. Like the pieces played by WS Gilbert’s piper, there was nothing in it resembling an air, but Donald played on and on right to the bitter end, when once more Max began to breathe, and again he said,—

“Thank you.”

“She hasn’t tone yet,” said Donald, smiling. “She does not often ket a young chentleman like yersel’ who lo’es ta coot music, and she’ll keep on playing to ye all tay. Ye shall noo hae something lively.”

Before Max could speak, the old man blew away, and wailed and burred out what was probably intended for “Maggie Lauder;” but this was changed into “Tullochgorum,” and back again, with frills, and puckers, and bows, and streamers, formed of other airs, used to decorate what was evidently meant for a grandmélangeto display the capabilities of the national instrument.

Just when this wonderful stream of maddening notes was at its highest pitch, and Max Blande was at his lowest, and feeling as if he would like to throw himself down upon the floor and cry, he became aware of the fact that Kenneth and Scoodrach were up above, gazing down at him from the ruined wall on the side where the chamber was roofless.

Old Donald was right below them and could not see, even had he been less intent and out of his musical dreaming, instead of tramping up and down, evidently supremely happy at the diversity of noises he made.

Max seized the opportunity of Donald’s back being turned, and made a sign to them to come down; but they only laughed, keeping their heads just in sight, Scoodrach’s disappearing and bobbing about from time to time, as he grinned and threw up his fingers, and seemed to be going through the motions of one dancing a reel.

Max would have shouted to them to come down, but at the thought of doing so a feeling of nervous trepidation came over him. Donald had looked half wild when the dog interrupted him; how would he behave if he were interrupted again, just as he was in this rapt state, and playing away with all his might?

The lad subsided in his seat, and with wrinkled brow gazed from the piper to the heads of the two boys, both of whom were laughing, and evidently enjoying his misery.

And now for the first time it struck Max that he had been inveigled up there through the planning of Kenneth, who knew his dislike to the pipes, and had told Donald that he was anxious to hear him play.

His face must have been expressive, for Kenneth was laughing at him, and whispered something to Scoodrach, who covered his mouth with his hands, and seemed to roar to such an extent that he was obliged to bend down.

As Scoodrach reappeared, he climbed up so as to lie flat on the top of the wall, leaning his head down when Donald came toward him, and raising it again as the old man turned.

The medley of Scottish airs ceased, and at last Max thought his penance was at an end, but in an instant the old man began again blowing hard, and playing a few solemn notes before approaching quite close to Max, taking his lips from the mouthpiece and whispering sharply,—

“Ta Dirge o’ Dunloch.”

Then whang! wha! on went the depressing strain Sneeshing being heard to howl in the distance.

Max felt as if he must run, and in his despondency and horror, knowing as he did that if he did not do something the old half-crazy piper would keep him shut up there and play to him all day, he waited till Donald had approached close to him, and, as the old man turned, he stretched out a leg ready. Then, waiting till he had been across the room, come back, and was turning again, Max cautiously slipped off his seat, and was about to dash for the door, when there was a shout, a scuffle, a thud, an awful pipe yell, and Donald came staggering back, uttering a series of wild Gaelic ejaculations in his surprise.

The cause of the interruption was plain enough: Scood had rolled off the top of the wall feet first, clung with his hands, and in his efforts to recover himself and get back he had kicked out one leg so sharply that it had come in contact with the bag of the pipes, producing the wild yell, and sending the old man staggering back.

As soon as he fully realised what was the matter, the old man uttered a howl of rage, laid down his pipes, and rushed across at Scoodrach, who had half scrambled back.

Donald’s attack altered his position, for the old man seized him about the hips by the kilt, and dragged at him to get him down, just as Kenneth was holding him tightly and trying to pull him up, Scood seconding his efforts by clinging to him with all his strength.

What followed did not take many moments, for Donald had every advantage on his side. He hauled, and Kenneth hauled, while Scood clung to his companion with tremendous tenacity.

“Pull! pull!” shouted Scoodrach to Kenneth; but the latter could not pull for laughing. And besides, he had the whole of the young gillie’s weight to bear, while his foothold was exceedingly insecure.

The old piper uttered some fierce words in Gaelic, to which Scoodrach replied in the same tongue; and then, finding how helpless he was, and little likely to be drawn up while Donald was clinging to him, he drew in his legs and then kicked them out again, like one swimming, or, a better comparison, like a grasshopper in the act of taking a leap.

Scoodrach was as strong as one of the rough ponies of the place, while old Donald’s days for display of muscular strength had long gone by. Consequently he was drawn to and fro as Scoodrach kicked, and was finally thrown off, to go down backwards into a sitting position.

“Now pull, Maister Ken,” shouted Scoodrach. “Heave her up, or she’ll hae that mad blawblether at her again.”

Kenneth pulled, laughing more than ever, as Scoodrach held on by his jacket; and just then the gillie managed to get a foot in a hole whence a stone had been dislodged. Raising himself up a little, Kenneth now began to pull in earnest; but it was too late. Old Donald had struggled up and seized Scoodrach once more, giving so heavy a drag upon him that down came the young gillie, and not alone, for he dragged Kenneth with him; and all three lay together in a struggling heap upon the floor.

“Rin, Maister Ken! Rin, young chentleman! Doon wi’ ye! She’ll be like a daft quey the noo. I can haud her till ye get doon.”

“No, no, Scood, I won’t run!” cried Kenneth. “You run, Max. Get down with you.”

Max obeyed, glad of the opportunity for escape; but as soon as he had passed through the door he turned, and looked in at the struggle going on.

To his horror, they more than once drew so near to the hole in the floor that it seemed as if they must go through; but they all wrenched themselves clear, and Scoodrach suddenly got free, leaped up, and drew his dirk.

“Oh!” cried Max in horror.

“Put away that knife, Scood, and run!” cried Kenneth.

“She’ll niver rin frae ta auld piper!” cried Scoodrach; and, turning to the box on which lay the pipes, he caught them up, and held them with the point of his keen knife close to the skin bag.

“Noo,” he shouted, “haud off an’ let the young maister go, or I’ll slit the bag’s weam.”

“Ah!” shouted old Donald.

“Ay, but I will!” yelled Scoodrach, with the point of his keen knife denting in the bag.

“Ah!” shouted the old piper again; and he made a movement toward the boy.

But Scoodrach was too quick. He stepped back, raised his arm, and seemed about to plunge the knife through the green baize.

“She’ll preak her heart,” groaned the old piper.

“Shall she let her go, then?” cried Scoodrach.

The old man caught hold of his hair by handfuls and gave it a tremendous tug.

“Don’t cut, Scood,” cried Kenneth.

“Go on down, and she shall come aifter. She’ll slit ta bahg oop if Tonald ton’t sit town.”

The old man’s breast heaved, and he gazed piteously at his instrument; following Scoodrach slowly, as that young gentleman edged round by the side of the wall till he reached the door, through which Kenneth had passed, and where he was now standing holding on by Max, both being intensely interested spectators of the scene.

“Rip her recht up,” cried Scoodrach. “Noo, Maister Kenneth, are ye ready?”

“Yes.”

“Down wi’ ye, then. He canna catch us there. Noo, Tonald, catch.”

He threw the pipes at the old man, and then darted through the narrow opening, and followed the others down the spiral stairs at such a rate that an accident seemed certain; but they reached the bottom in safety, and stood at last in the courtyard, laughing and cheering.

“Tonal’!” shouted Scoodrach; and he added something in Gaelic.

The effect was to bring the old piper’s head and shoulders out of the narrow broken window opening, where he stood, hugging the pipes in one hand, and shaking the other menacingly.

Then, changing his manner, he began to beckon with his great claw-like hand.

“Nivver mind him, laddie. Come up here and I’ll play ye Macrimmon owre again.”

“No, no!” exclaimed Max earnestly.

“Says he’s afraid you’d blow the roof off, Tonal’,” shouted Kenneth. “No time. He’s coming along with us;” and he led Max, to his very great delight, out through the old arch on to the broad terrace by the sea. But they had not gone many yards before they heard old Donald again piping away, with no other audience but the jackdaws, which came and settled near, and looked at him sideways, too much used to the wild strains to be alarmed, and knowing from experience that the old piper would pay no heed to them.

Chapter Fifteen.Bird-Nesting under Difficulties.“What shall we do?” said Kenneth.Just as he spoke, Max made a jump and turned nimbly round, for Sneeshing, who had not been touched by Donald’s stone, had come fidgeting round them, and had had a sniff at the visitor’s legs.“I say, Max, there must be something very nice about your legs,” cried Kenneth, laughing. “Don’t set the dog at me, please.”“I didn’t. It’s only his way. Here, what shall we do—fish?”“Not to-day,” said Max, giving involuntarily a rub of one white leg against the other.“Well, let’s go and have a shot at something.”“I think I would rather not,” pleaded Max, who looked with horror upon the idea of tramping the mountain side clothed as he was. “What do you say to a sail, then?”Max shivered as he recalled his sensations upon the ride from the steamer; but there was a favourable side to such a trip—he could sit in the boat and have a railway wrapper about him.“Where would you go if we sailed?”“Oh, anywhere. Up the loch, over the firth, and through the sound. Over to Inchkie Island. We’ll take the guns; we may get a shot at a hare, hawk, or an eagle.”Max nodded.“That’s right. Get down, Bruce! don’t you get smelling his legs, or we shall have him bobbing off into the sea.”The great deerhound, who was approaching in a very suspicious manner, eyeing Max’s thin legs, turned off, and, choosing a warm, smooth piece of rock, lay down.“Off you go, Scood, and bring the boat round. Come on, Max, and let’s get the guns. You can shoot, can’t you?”“I think so,” said Max, as Scoodrach went off at a trot.“You think so?”“Yes. I never fired a gun, but the man showed me how to load and take aim, and it looks very easy.”“Oh yes, it looks very easy,” said Kenneth dryly. “You just hold the gun to your shoulder and point at a bird. Then you pull the trigger, and down comes Dicky.”“Yes. I went to see men shoot pigeons after I had bought my gun. My father said I had better.”“Oh, he said you had better, did he?”Max nodded.“And he thought that would do as well as shooting pigeons, for they come expensive.”Kenneth laughed.“Ah, well, we can give you something to shoot at here, without buying pigeons; but you’ll have to mind: my father wouldn’t like it if you were to shoot either me or Scood.”“Oh, I wouldn’t do that!” cried Max. “It isn’t likely.”“Glad of it,” said Kenneth dryly. “Well, then, don’t make a mistake and shoot one of the dogs. I’m sure they would not like it. Where’s your gun?”“In the case in my bedroom. Shall I fetch it?”“Yes. Got any cartridges?”“Oh yes, everything complete; the man saw to that.”“Look sharp, then,” said Kenneth; and he had a hearty laugh as he saw his new companion go upstairs.In spite of the admonition to look sharp, Max was some few minutes before he descended. For the first thing he saw on reaching his bedroom were his two pairs of trousers, neatly folded, and lying upon a chair.The gun was forgotten for the minute, and it was not long before the kilt was exchanged for the southern costume in the form of tweeds, Max sighing with satisfaction as he once more felt quite warmly clad.Kenneth laughed as Max reappeared with his gun and cartridge belt in his hand.“Hallo!” he said; “soon tired of looking Scotch.”“I—I’m not used to it,” said Max apologetically. “And never will be if you go on like that.”“But I found my own things in my room, and it did not seem right to keep on wearing yours.”“Wonder where they were?” said Kenneth dryly.“I suppose the butler found them,” said Max innocently.Kenneth whistled, and looked rather peculiar, but his aspect was not noticed by his companion, who was experimenting on the best way to carry his gun.“Loaded?”“No, not yet.”“Then don’t you load till I tell you. I’ll give you plenty of time. Come along.”“Going for a sail, Maister Ken?” cried a voice; and Long Shon came waddling up, looking very red-faced and fierce.“Yes, Shon, and we don’t want you in the boat.”Long Shon grunted, and followed close behind.“She could go instead of Scood.”“Yes, I know she could, but she isn’t going,” replied Kenneth, mimicking the man’s speech. “What would Scood say if I left him behind?”“She could show you an eagle’s nest up the firth.”“So can Scood. He knows where it is!”Long Shon pulled a battered brass box out of his pouch, and took a big pinch of snuff as he waddled behind.“She knows where there’s a raven’s nest.”“That’s what Scood told me this morning, Long Shon.”“But she tidn’t know where there’s a nest o’ young blue hawks.”“Yes, I do, father,” shouted Scood from the boat, in an ill-used tone, for they were now down on the rocks, and Scoodrach was paddling the boat in close.“He wants me to turn you out, and take him instead, Scood. Shall I?”“No!” said Scood undutifully.“Petter tak’ me, Maister Ken, and she can teach the young chentleman how to hantle his gun.”“Look here, Shon, the young chentleman knows how to hantle his gun. I don’t want you, and I don’t want your dogs. You, Sneeshing, come back.”The ugly little Scotch terrier had waited till Scoodrach came near, and then crept down among the rocks to a crevice where he could get quietly into the water without a splash, and was paddling to the side of the boat, looking like an otter swimming.Sneeshing whined and made a snap at the water.“Do you hear, sir? Come back!” cried Kenneth; but just then Scood leaned over the side, gripped the little dog by the loose skin at the back of his neck, and lifted him into the boat.Sneeshing’s first act was to run forward and give himself a tremendous shake to get rid of the water, and then he performed a sort of triumphant dance, and ended by placing his forepaws over the side, and barking at his fellows on the rock.Bruce seemed to frown at him, showed his teeth, and then uttered a deep baying bark; but Dirk answered the challenge of his little companion by barking furiously, then running up and down upon the rocks for a few moments, watching the boat, as if calculating whether he could leap in; and ending by plunging into the sea with a tremendous splash.“Come back, sir! Do you hear? come back!” shouted Kenneth, when Dirk raised his head from the water, and uttered a remonstrant bark, which seemed to say,—“It isn’t fair. You’re letting him go.”“Hit him with an oar, Scood,” cried Kenneth. “Here, you Dirk, come back, sir, or I’ll pepper you!”As he spoke, Kenneth raised the gun he carried and took aim at the dog, who threw up his head and uttered a piteous howl, but kept on swimming up and down beside the boat.“Will you come out, sir?”Dirk howled again.Click! click! sounded the hammers, as Kenneth drew the triggers; and Dirk now burst forth into a loud barking.“She says she knew it wasn’t loated, Maister Ken,” cried Long Shon, laughing; “she’s a ferry cunning tog, is Dirk.”“Hi, Dirk! look here,” cried Kenneth; and he threw open the breech of his gun and slipped in a couple of cartridges. “Now then, young fellow,” he continued, “the gun’s loaded now; so come back and stop ashore. You’re not going.”“How-ow!”Dirk’s cry was very pitiful, and, whether he understood the fact of the gun being loaded or not, he turned and swam slowly ashore, climbed on the rock and stood dripping and disconsolate, without trying to scatter the water from his coat.“You’d better learn to mind, sir, or—”Kenneth gave the dog’s ribs a bang with the gun barrel, and Dirk whined and crouched down, watching his master wistfully as he stepped off the rock into the boat, and then held out his hand to Max to follow.“Mind what you’re doing, Scood,” cried Long Shon. “Ta wint’s going to change.”Scood nodded, and began to hoist the sail; the wind caught it directly, and the boat moved swiftly through the water.“You’re not going near the Mare’s Tail to-day, are you?” said Max anxiously, as Kenneth laid his gun across his knees.“No, I wasn’t going; but if you want to— Here, Scood, let’s go and show him the Grey Mare’s Tail again.”“No! No! No!” cried Max excitedly; “and pray don’t go into any dangerous places.”He bit his lip with annoyance as soon as he had said the words, for he felt that it had made him seem cowardly in the eyes of his companions.Scood grinned, and Kenneth said laughingly,—“Oh, I thought you wanted to go there. We won’t go into any danger. Would you like a lifebelt?”“No!” said Max indignantly; and then to himself, “I wish there was one here.”“Tak’ care, Maister Ken. Ta wint’s going to change.”“All right.”“You, Scood, mind you ton’t mak’ fast ta sheet.”Max looked round for the sheet, but he did not see it; and concluded that it was the sail that was meant.“I do wish people wouldn’t treat us as if we were babies,” said Kenneth angrily. “Just as if I didn’t know how to sail a boat.”He jumped up suddenly, and shouted back,—“Hi, Shon!”“Ay, ay!”“Pray take care of yourself.”“You tak’ care o’ yoursel’, Maister Ken, and never mind me.”“Mind you don’t catch cold.”“Eh?”“Tie a handkerchief round your neck, and put your feet in warm water.”“What ye mean, Maister Ken?”“Get Mother Cumstie to come and hold your hand, for fear you should fall off the rock.”“What ye talking aboot, sir?”“Do be careful, Shon; there’s a good man.”Long Shon stood on the rock, rubbing a great red, yellow-freckled ear; and then scratched one of his brawny cheeks, looking puzzled.“Shall I send Scoody back, to lead you with a string?”The distance was getting great now, and the man’s voice sounded faint as he put his hands to his mouth to make a speaking-trumpet.“She ton’t know what you mean.”“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Scood.“Go and teach your grandmother how to suck eggs,” roared Kenneth in the same way; but Shon shook his head, for he could not hear the words; and Kenneth sank down in the boat, and pressed the tiller a little to port, so as to alter the boat’s course slightly. “Scood,” he cried pettishly, “your father’s a jolly old woman.”Scood, who was half leaning back, enjoying the fun of hearing his father bantered, suddenly started up in a stiff sitting position, and tore off his Tam o’ Shanter, to throw it angrily in the bottom of the boat, as his yellow face grew redder, and he cried fiercely,—“No, she isna an auld woman. My father’s a ferry coot man.”“No, he isn’t; he’s a regular silly old cow.”“My father’s a man, and a coot man, and a coot prave man, and never wass an auld woman.”“Get out, you old thick-head!” cried Kenneth.“I ton’t say my het isna a coot thick het, Maister Ken; but my father is as coot a man as The Mackhai hersel’.”“Oh, all right, then; Long Shon is a coot prave man, but his legs are too short.”“She canna help her legs peing short,” said Scood, who was still ruffled; “put they’re ferry coot legs—peautiful legs.”“Ha, ha!” laughed Kenneth.“So they are,” cried Scood. “They’re not so long, put they’re much pigger rount than the Chief’s.”“Bother! Hear him bragging about his father’s old legs, Max! Here, you come and take a lesson in steering,” said Kenneth, making fast the sheet, an act which made Scoodrach growl a little. “I can’t steer and shoot.”“Shall she tak’ the tiller?” said Scood.“No; you stop forward there, and trim the boat. Well, Sneeshing, can you see anything?”The dog was standing on the thwart forward, resting his paws on the gunwale, and watching the flight of the gulls. At the sound of his master’s voice, he uttered a low bark.“Whee-ugh, whee-ugh!” cried a bird.“Look, Max, there he goes out of shot.”“What is it?”“A whaup.”Max followed the flight of the bird eagerly as it flew off toward the shore of a long, low green island on their left.“Now then, catch hold.”“I’m afraid I don’t know how to steer,” said Max nervously.“Oh, it’s easy enough. Keep her head like that, and if she seems to be going over, run her right up into the wind.”“But I don’t know how.”“Never mind that. Half the way to know how is to try—eh, Scood?”“Yes; if she nivver tries, she can’t nivver do nothing at all so well as she should,” said Scood sententiously.“Hear that, Max?” cried Kenneth, laughing. “Scood’s our philosopher now, you know.”“Na, she isna a flossipher,” grumbled Scood. “Put look, Maister Ken—seal!”He sat perfectly still, gazing straight at some black rocks off a rocky islet.“Where?—where?” cried Max eagerly. “I want to see a seal.”There was a soft, gliding motion on the black rock, and, almost without a splash, something round and soft and grey-looking plunged into the sea.“You scared it away,” said Kenneth.“Oh, I am sorry!”“Don’t suppose the seal is; but I couldn’t have hit it to do any harm with this gun.”The boat glided on, and all at once, from the water’s edge about a hundred yards away, up rose, heavily and clumsily, a great flapping-winged bird.“What’s that?” cried Max, whose knowledge of birds save in books was principally confined to sparrows, poultry, and pigeons.“Heron. Can’t you see his beak?”“Yes, and long neck. What a long thin tail!”Scood chuckled.“What’s he laughing at?”“You mind what you’re doing; you’ll have the boat over. Keep the tiller as I showed you.”Max hastily complied.“That isn’t his tail,” continued Kenneth, watching the heron, which was far out of shot. “Those are his long thin legs stretched out behind to balance him as he flies.”Max said “Oh!” as he watched the bird, and came to the conclusion that he was being laughed at, but his attention was taken up directly after by a couple of birds rising from the golden-brown weedy shore they were gliding by—birds which he could see were black and white, and which flew off, uttering sharp, excited cries.“What are those?”“Pies.”“Pies?”“Yes; not puddings.”“I mean magpies?”“No; sea pies—oyster-catchers.”“Do they catch oysters?”“Never saw one do it, but they eat the limpets like fun. Now then, sit fast. Here’s a shot.”Max sat fast and shrinkingly, for he was not accustomed to a gun being fired close to his ears. He watched eagerly as a couple of birds flew toward them with outstretched necks and quickly beating, sharply-pointed wings, but they turned off as the gun was raised, and, though Kenneth fired, there was no result.“Waste of a shot,” he said, reloading.“What were those?”“Sheldrakes. How shy they are, Scood!”Max thought it was enough to make them, but he did not say so, and he scanned the island as they sailed on, with the sensation of gliding over the beautiful sparkling water growing each moment more fascinating as his dread wore off. They were passing a glorious slope of shore, green and grey and yellow, and patched with black where some mass of shaley rock jutted out into the sea to be creamed with foam, while everywhere, as the tide laid them bare, the rocks were glistening with the golden-brown seaweed of different species. Blue sky, blue water, blue mountains in the distance: the scene was lovely, and the London boy’s eyes brightened as he gazed with avidity at the ever-changing shore.“Is that a castle?” he said, as a square ruined tower gradually came into sight at the point of the island.“Yes; there are lots about,” said Kenneth coolly. “There’s another yonder.”He nodded in the direction of the mainland, so cut up into fiords that on a small scale it resembled the Norwegian coast, and, on shading his eyes, Max could see another mouldering pile of ruins similar in structure to Dunroe, with its square mass of masonry and four rounded towers at the corners.“What castle is that?”“Rannage. This one on the island is Turkree. Every chief used to have a place of that sort, and most of ’em built their castles on rocks like that sticking out into the sea.”Max gazed eagerly at the ruined towers, the homes of jackdaws, bats, and owls, and he was beginning to dream about the old times when men in armour and courtly ladies used to dwell in these sea-girt fortalices, but his reverie was broken in upon by a sharp snapping bark from Sneeshing, and an exclamation from Scood.“Oh, you beauty!” exclaimed Kenneth, as he gazed up at a great strong-winged, hawk-like bird, which went sailing by. “See, Max. Blue hawk.”“Is that a blue hawk?” said Max, as he gazed wonderingly at the rapidity with which the great bird cut through the air.“Yes; peregrine falcon, the books call it. There’s a nest yonder where we’re going.”“Where?”“On the face of that great grey cliff that you can see under the sail.”Max gazed at the huge wall of rock about a mile away, and noted that the falcon was making for it as fast as its wings would beat.“Are we going there?”“Yes. I want the nest. I think there are young ones in it—late couple fledged.”The rocky cliff looked so stern and forbidding, that it seemed as if climbing would be impossible.“Then we’re going on to that rock on the other side—that tall crag. That’s where the eagles build.”Max gazed hard at a faint blue mass of crag miles farther, and then turned half doubtingly to his companion.“Eagles?” he said; “I thought there were none now.”“But there are. There’s one pair build yonder every year, quite out of reach; but I mean to have a try for them some day. Eh, Scood?”“Ou ay!” ejaculated the young gillie carelessly; “why no?”“Are there any other wild things about?”“Any wild things? plenty: badgers, and otters, and roe deer, and red deer. Look, there’s one right off against the sky on that hill. See?”“Yes,” cried Max. “I can see that quite plainly.”“Tah!” ejaculated Scood scornfully; “it’s a coo.”“You, Scood, do you want me to pitch you overboard?” cried Kenneth.“Nae.”“Then hold your tongue.”“Ou ay, Maister Kenneth, only ton’t tell the young chentleman lies. Look, Maister Max, there’s the teer, four, five, sax of them, over yon. See?”“Yes, I can see them; but are they really deer?”“No,” cried Kenneth; “they’re bulls.”“They’re not. Ton’t you belief him. She can see quite plain. They’re teer.”“If they were deer they’d bolt,” cried Kenneth, shading his eyes; “they wouldn’t stop there.”“There they go,” cried Scood, as the graceful creatures trotted over the shoulder of a hill a mile or more away, all but one, which stood up against the sky, so that they could make out its great antlers.“So they are,” said Kenneth. “Why, Max, we must go after that fellow to-morrow. How is it they’ve come down here?”“Been shot at somewhere else.”“Hadn’t we better go back and get the rifles?”“Noo? No; let’s come to-morrow airly, and have a coot fair try.”“Perhaps that will be best,” said Kenneth in assent, as the stag disappeared, and the boat sped on.“But may you shoot stags?” said Max rather wonderingly.“Of course, when they are on my father’s part of the forest. That’s his out there.”“Forest? Where?” asked Max wonderingly.“Why, there.”“What, that place like a great common? There are no trees!”“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Scood. “Who ever heard of a forest with trees?”“Hold your tongue, Scood, or I’ll pitch you overboard.”“She’s always talking spout pitching her overpoard, but she never does,” muttered Scood.“Our land runs right along there for three miles. Once upon a time The Mackhai’s forest ran along for thirty miles.”“How is it that it does not now?”“Father says the rascally lawyers—I beg your pardon. He was cross when he said that.”Kenneth hastily changed the subject, as he saw his companion’s flushed countenance.“I say, we’ll come out here fishing one day. Like fishing for mackerel?”“I never did fish for them.”“Oh, it’s rare sport. We have a couple of rods out each side as we sail along, and catch plenty when there’s a shoal. Looks high, doesn’t it?”“Yes,” said Max, as the boat glided on over the calm heaving water till they were right under a great grey wall of crag, which towered above their heads, and cast clearly-cut reflections on the crystal water over which they rode.“That’s five hundred feet if it’s an inch,” said Kenneth, as he threw himself back and gazed up. “Look, Max.”“What at?”“See those two black fellows on that ledge with their wings open?”“Yes. What are they—blackbirds?”“Black enough. Cormorants drying their plumage.”“But it hasn’t been raining.”“No; but they’ve been diving, and got well wet. Why, they can swim under water like a fish.”“Go on, if you like telling travellers’ tales,” said Max, smiling.“Well, of all the unbelieving old Jews! Just as if I was always trying to cram you! I tell you they do. So do the gannets and dookkers. They dive down, and swim wonderfully under water, and chase and catch the fish. They’re obliged to.”“Look out! there she goes,” cried Scoodrach.Kenneth raised his gun, but the bird to which his attention was drawn was out of shot.“That’s the hen bird, Scood.”“Yes; and I can see where the nest is,” cried the young gillie.“Where?”Kenneth laid his hand on Max’s, which was upon the tiller, pressed it hard, and, to the lad’s surprise, the boat glided round till she faced the wind, and then lay gently rising and falling, with the sail shivering slightly in the breeze.“Yes, that’s it, sure enough, on that ledge somewhere,” said Kenneth, after a long stare up at the face of the grey crag. “See, Max?”“No.”“Why, there, about fifty feet from the top. See now?”“No.”“Oh, I say! where are your eyes? See that black split where the rock seems to go in?”“Yes, I see that.”“Well, down a little way to the left, there’s a— Oh, look at that!”A great sharp-winged bird came over the cliff from landward, and was about to glide down to the shelf of rock, when, seeing the boat and its occupants, the bird uttered a piercing shriek, and swept away northward.“That’s the cock,” cried Kenneth. “No mistake about the young ones, Scood. Now, then, how shall we get ’em?”Scood was silent.“Do you hear, stupid?”“Ou ay, she can hear, Maister Ken.”“Well, how are we to get them?”“Aw’m thenking,” said Scood, as he stared up at the beetling crag, which was for the most part absolutely perpendicular.“Hit him on the head with that oar, Max, and make him think more quickly.”“She couldna get up anywhere there,” said Scood slowly, as he scanned every cranny of the cliff face.“Oh yes, we could, Scood.”“Nay, Maister Ken, an’ ye see, if we was to tummle, it wouldn’t be into the watter, but on to the rocks.”“Oh, we shouldn’t tumble. You could climb that, couldn’t you, Max?”“No, not without a ladder,” replied Max thoughtfully; “and I never saw one long enough to reach up there.”“No, I should think not. Look here, Scoody, one of us has got to climb up and take those young ones.”“She couldna do it.”“You’re afraid, Scoody.”“Na, she isna feared, but she couldna do it.”“Well, I shall try.”“No, don’t; pray, don’t! It looks so dangerous.”“Nonsense!”“She couldna clamber up there fra the bottom,” said Scoodrach slowly, “but she could clamber up it fra the top.”“No, you couldn’t, stupid; it hangs over.”“An’ we could tak’ a rope.”“Come on, then,” cried Kenneth, seizing the tiller; and Max felt his hands grow damp in the palms as he looked up at the top of the precipice, and saw in imagination one of his companions dangling from a rope.“Which will be best—forward or backward?”“Yonder where we landed to get the big corbies,” said Scoodrach; and the boat was run on for about a quarter of a mile, to where a ravine ran right up into the land, looking as if a large wedge had been driven in to split the cliff asunder.The boat was steered in, the sail lowered, and Scood immediately began to set free one of the ropes.“Think that’ll be strong enough, Scoody?”“Na.”“Then why are you casting it loose?”Scoodrach gave his companions a cunning look, and made the rope fast to a ring-bolt, and then leaped out and secured the other end to a mass of rock.“That’ll hold her,” he said. “Unto the ither.”“Oh, I see what you mean now,” cried Kenneth, unfastening the mooring-rope from the ring in the bows. “Yes, that’ll do better.”“She’ll holt twa laddies hanging on at aince,” said Scoodrach. “Na, na, ton’t to that.”“Why not?”“Because she’ll want ta crapnel.”“Scood, you’re an old wonder!” cried Kenneth; “but you’ll have to carry it.”“Ou ay, she’ll carry her,” said the lad coolly; and, getting on board again, he lifted and shouldered the little anchor, so that one of the flukes hung over his shoulder and the coil of rope on his arm.“She’s retty,” he said.“All right. Come on, Max, and we’ll send you down first.”“Send me down first?” said Max, looking wildly from one to the other.“To be sure. You can’t fall; we’ll tie the rope round you and let you down, and then you can turn round gently and get roasted in the sun.”Scood laughed.“You’re bantering me again,” said Max, after a few moments.“Ah, well, you’ll see. Stop back if you’re afraid.”“I’m not afraid,” said Max firmly, but his white face spoke to the contrary. All the same, though, he drew a long breath, and jumped out of the boat to follow Scoodrach, who took the lead, tramping sturdily over the rough rocks of what proved to be a very stiff climb, the greater part of it being right down in the stony bed of a tiny torrent, which came gurgling from stone to stone, now dancing in the sunshine, and now completely hidden beneath the débris of ruddy granite, of which a dyke ran down to the sea.“Hard work for the boots, Max, isn’t it?” said Kenneth, laughing, as he came along behind, active as a goat, and with his gun on his shoulder.“Yes,” said Max, perspiring freely. “Isn’t there a better path than this?”“No; this is the best, and it’s beautiful to-day. After rain this is a regular waterfall.”“Ou ay, there’s a teal o’ peautiful watter comes town here sometimes,” said Scood.They climbed on by patches of ragwort all golden stars, with the ladies’ mantle of vivid green, with its dentate edge, neat folds, and pearly dewdrop in the centre, and by patches of delicate moss, with the pallid butterwort peeping, and by fern and club moss, heath and heather, and great patches of whortleberry and bog-myrtle, every turn and resting-place showing some lovely rock-garden dripping with pearly drops, and possessing far more attraction for Max than the quest upon which they were engaged.“Ah, only wait till you’ve been here a month,” cried Kenneth, “and your wind will be better than this.”“Don’t you get as hot as I am with climbing?”“I should think not, indeed. Why, Scood and I could almost run up here. Couldn’t we, Scood?”“Ou ay; she could run up and run town too.”“Is it much farther to the top?” said Max, after a few minutes’ farther climb; and he seated himself upon a beautiful green cushion of moss, and then jumped up again, to the great delight of his companions, who roared with laughter as they saw a jet of water spurt out, and noted Max’s look of dismay. For it was as if he had chosen for a seat some huge well-charged sponge.“I—I did not know it was so wet.”“Moss generally is on the mountain,” cried Kenneth. “You should sit down on a stone or a tuft of heath if you’re tired. Try that.”“I’m so uncomfortably wet, thank you,” replied Max, “I don’t think I’ll sit down.”“Oh, you’ll soon dry up again. Let’s go on, then. We’re nearly up at the top.”Kenneth’s “nearly up at the top” proved to be another twenty minutes’ arduous climb, to a place where the water came trickling over a perpendicular wall of rock ten feet high, and this had to be scaled, Max being got to the top by Scood hauling and Kenneth giving him a “bump up,” as he called it. Then there was another quarter of an hour’s climb in and out along the steep gully, with the stones rattling down beneath their feet, and then they were out, not on the top, as Max expected, but only to see another pile of cliff away to his right, and again others beyond.They had reached the top of the range of cliff, however, and away to their left lay the sea, while, as they walked on along the fairly level cliff, Max felt a peculiar shrinking sensation of insecurity, for only a few yards away was the edge, where the face fell down to the shore.“Don’t walk quite so near,” he said nervously.“Certainly not,” said Kenneth politely. “Do you hear, Scoody? don’t go so near. It’s dangerous. Come this way.”As he spoke, he made his way, to Max’s horror, close to the verge, and, with a grin of delight, the young gillie followed him, to climb every now and then on the top of some projecting block right over the brink, and so that had he dropped a stone it would have fallen sheer upon the rocks below.Max felt a strange catching of the breath, and his eyes dilated and throat grew dry; when, seeing his suffering, Kenneth came more inward.“Why, what are you afraid of?” he said, laughing. “We’re used to it, and don’t mind it any more than the sheep.”“Tut it looks so dreadful.”“Dreadful? Nonsense! See what the sailors do when they go up aloft, with the ship swaying about. It’s quite solid here. Now, Scoody, aren’t we far enough?”“Na. It’s just ahint that big stane where we shall gae doon.”“No, no; it’s about here,” said Kenneth; and, going to the edge, he looked over.Scoodrach chuckled.“Can ye see ta nest, Maister Ken?”“No; I suppose you’re right. There never was such an obstinate old humbug, Max; he’s always right. It’s his luck.”Scoodrach chuckled again, and went on about fifty yards to where a rough block of stone lay in their path, and as soon as they were by this, he went to the brink and looked down, bending over so much that Max shivered.“There!” he cried, and Kenneth joined him, to look over as well, apparently at something beneath the projecting rock which was hard to see.“Yes, here it is!” he cried, “Come and have a look, Max.”At that moment the party addressed felt as if he would like to cling to the nearest stone for an anchorage, to save himself from being blown off the cliff by some passing gust, and he stood still, staring at his companions on the brink.“Well, why don’t you come? You can just see where the nest lies—at least you can make out the bits of stick.”“I don’t think I’ll come, thank you,” said Max.“Nonsense! Do be a little more plucky.”“Yes,” said Max, making an effort over himself; and he took a couple of steps forward, and then stopped.“Well,” cried Kenneth, “come along! There’s no danger.”As he stood there, with his gun resting on the rock beside him, Max could not help envying his cool daring, and wishing he could be as brave.But he could not, and, going down on hands and knees, he crept cautiously toward the brink, and then stopped and uttered a cry, for something made a leap at him.It was only Sneeshing, who had been forgotten, and who had been enjoying himself with a quiet hunt all to himself among the heather. As he trotted up, he became aware of the fact that his young master’s visitor was turning himself into a four-footed creature, and he leaped at him in a friendly burst of greeting.“I—I thought somebody pushed me,” gasped Max. “Call the dog away.”“Down, Sneeshing!” cried Kenneth, wiping his eyes. “Oh, I say, Max, you made me laugh so—I nearly went overboard.”Max gave him a pitiful look, and, from crawling on hands and knees, subsided to progression upon his breast as he came close to the edge of the rock and looked shudderingly down.“See the nest?” said Kenneth, as he exchanged glances with Scoodrach.“No, no. I can see a great shelf of stone a long, long way down,” replied Max, shuddering, and feeling giddy as he gazed at the shore, which seemed to be a fearful distance below.“Well, that’s where the nest is, only right close in under the rock. Lean out farther—ever so far. Shall I sit on your legs?”“No, no! don’t touch me, please! I—I’ll look out a little farther,” cried Max, in alarm.“D’ye think if ye teuk her legs, and she teuk her heat, we could pitch her richt oot into the sea, Maister Ken?” said Scoodrach, in a low, hoarse voice.Max shot back from the edge, and sat up at a couple of yards’ distance, looking inquiringly from one to the other, as if fearing some assault.“You’ll soon get used to the cliffs,” said Kenneth. “I say, look, Scoody!”He pointed out across the wide sea-loch, and Max could see that two sharp-winged birds were skimming along in the distance, and returning, as if in a great state of excitement about their nest.“There they are, Max, the pair of them,” said Kenneth.“Isn’t it cruel to take their nest, supposing you can get it?” said Max.“Oh, very,” replied Kenneth coolly. “We ought to leave it alone, and let the young hawks grow up and harry and strike down the grouse and eat the young clucks. Why, do you know how many birds those two murder a day?”“No,” said Max.“Neither do I; but they do a lot of mischief, and the sooner their nest is taken the better.”“I did not think of that. They’re such beautiful birds upon the wing, that it seems a pity to destroy them.”“Yes; but only let me get a chance. Why, if we were to let these things get ahead along with the eagles, they’d murder half the young birds and lambs in the country. Now, Scood, how’s it to be?”Scoodrach grunted, and kicked away the earth in different places, till he found where there was a good crevice between two pieces of rock, where, making use of the anchor as if it were a pickaxe, he dug out the earth till he could force down one fluke close between the stones till the stock was level, when he gave it a final stamp, and rose up.“There,” he said, “twenty poys could not pull that oot.”“Yes, that will bear, unless it jumps out,” said Kenneth. “Look here, Max, will you go down first?”“I? Oh no!”“All right, you shall go down after. Now, mind, you’ve got to keep your foot on the grapnel here, so as it can’t come out.”“But you surely will not go down, and trust to that?”“Trust to that, and to you, my lad. So, mind, if you let the anchor fluke come out, down I shall go to the bottom; and I don’t envy you the job of going to tell The Mackhai.”“Oh, Kenneth!”“Fact I’m the only boy he has got.”“It is horrible!” panted Max, as Scoodrach advanced to the edge of the cliff and threw over the coil of rope, standing watching it as it uncurled rapidly ring by ring, till it hung taut.Max saw it all in imagination, and the fine dew stood out upon his face as he pressed his foot with all his might down upon the anchor, and listened to and gazed at what followed.“There she is,” said Scoodrach. “Will ye gang first, Maister Ken, or shall I?”“Oh, I’ll go first, Scood. But how about the young birds? what shall I put them in?”Scood hesitated for a moment, and then took off his Tam o’ Shanter.“Ye’ll joost putt ’em in ta ponnet,” he said.“No, no, that won’t do; they’d fall out.”Scood scratched his curly red head.“Aweel!” he exclaimed; “she’s cot a wee bit of string. Ye’ll joost tak’ it in yer sporran, and my twa stockings. Putt ane in each, and then tie ’em oop at the tops and hang ’em roond yer neck. Do ye see?”“That will do capitally, Scood!” cried Kenneth, seizing the socks which the lad had stripped from his feet and thrusting them in his pocket. “Good-bye, Max.”“No, no! don’t say good-bye! Don’t go down!” panted Max, in spite of himself; and then he stood pressing wildly down on the anchor, for Kenneth had glided over the side, and, after hanging from the verge for a moment, he gave his head a nod, laughed at Max, and disappeared, with Scoodrach leaning down with his hands upon his knees watching him.For a few moments Max closed his eyes, while the rope jarred and jerked, and the iron thrilled beneath his foot. Then all at once the jarring ceased, and the rope hung loose.Max opened his eyes in horror, the idea being strong upon him that Kenneth had fallen. But his voice rose out of the depths beyond the edge.“Ask him if he’d like to come down and see.”“No, no!” cried Max huskily; “I’d rather not.”“She says she shall not come,” cried Scoodrach.“Then let him stay where he is,” came from below. “Come and have a look, Scood.”To Max’s horror, the gillie went down on his knees, seized the rope, and passed over the edge; Max watching his grinning countenance as he lowered himself down, with first his chest and then his face disappearing, lastly the worsted tuft on the top of his Tam o’ Shanter; and there was nothing to see but the pulsating rope, and the sea, sky, and blue mountains on the other side of the loch.And now a strong desire to take his foot from the anchor, and creep to the edge of the cliff and look down, came over Max. He wanted to see Scoodrach descend to the shelf of rock and join Kenneth. He wanted, too, to look upon the falcon’s nest; for, after seeing these two descend so bravely, by a sudden reaction he felt ashamed of his own nervousness, and was ready to show them that he was not so cowardly after all.All this was momentary; and there the rope kept on vibrating and the anchor jarred as Scoodrach descended; while, as Max pressed the stock down, and it rose and fell like a spring beneath his foot, he kept his eyes fixed upon the edge of the cliff, where the rope seemed to end, when there was a dull twang, as if the string of some gigantic instrument had snapped, and, to his horror, the rope rose from the top of the cliff as if alive, and struck and coiled round him with a stinging pain.

“What shall we do?” said Kenneth.

Just as he spoke, Max made a jump and turned nimbly round, for Sneeshing, who had not been touched by Donald’s stone, had come fidgeting round them, and had had a sniff at the visitor’s legs.

“I say, Max, there must be something very nice about your legs,” cried Kenneth, laughing. “Don’t set the dog at me, please.”

“I didn’t. It’s only his way. Here, what shall we do—fish?”

“Not to-day,” said Max, giving involuntarily a rub of one white leg against the other.

“Well, let’s go and have a shot at something.”

“I think I would rather not,” pleaded Max, who looked with horror upon the idea of tramping the mountain side clothed as he was. “What do you say to a sail, then?”

Max shivered as he recalled his sensations upon the ride from the steamer; but there was a favourable side to such a trip—he could sit in the boat and have a railway wrapper about him.

“Where would you go if we sailed?”

“Oh, anywhere. Up the loch, over the firth, and through the sound. Over to Inchkie Island. We’ll take the guns; we may get a shot at a hare, hawk, or an eagle.”

Max nodded.

“That’s right. Get down, Bruce! don’t you get smelling his legs, or we shall have him bobbing off into the sea.”

The great deerhound, who was approaching in a very suspicious manner, eyeing Max’s thin legs, turned off, and, choosing a warm, smooth piece of rock, lay down.

“Off you go, Scood, and bring the boat round. Come on, Max, and let’s get the guns. You can shoot, can’t you?”

“I think so,” said Max, as Scoodrach went off at a trot.

“You think so?”

“Yes. I never fired a gun, but the man showed me how to load and take aim, and it looks very easy.”

“Oh yes, it looks very easy,” said Kenneth dryly. “You just hold the gun to your shoulder and point at a bird. Then you pull the trigger, and down comes Dicky.”

“Yes. I went to see men shoot pigeons after I had bought my gun. My father said I had better.”

“Oh, he said you had better, did he?”

Max nodded.

“And he thought that would do as well as shooting pigeons, for they come expensive.”

Kenneth laughed.

“Ah, well, we can give you something to shoot at here, without buying pigeons; but you’ll have to mind: my father wouldn’t like it if you were to shoot either me or Scood.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that!” cried Max. “It isn’t likely.”

“Glad of it,” said Kenneth dryly. “Well, then, don’t make a mistake and shoot one of the dogs. I’m sure they would not like it. Where’s your gun?”

“In the case in my bedroom. Shall I fetch it?”

“Yes. Got any cartridges?”

“Oh yes, everything complete; the man saw to that.”

“Look sharp, then,” said Kenneth; and he had a hearty laugh as he saw his new companion go upstairs.

In spite of the admonition to look sharp, Max was some few minutes before he descended. For the first thing he saw on reaching his bedroom were his two pairs of trousers, neatly folded, and lying upon a chair.

The gun was forgotten for the minute, and it was not long before the kilt was exchanged for the southern costume in the form of tweeds, Max sighing with satisfaction as he once more felt quite warmly clad.

Kenneth laughed as Max reappeared with his gun and cartridge belt in his hand.

“Hallo!” he said; “soon tired of looking Scotch.”

“I—I’m not used to it,” said Max apologetically. “And never will be if you go on like that.”

“But I found my own things in my room, and it did not seem right to keep on wearing yours.”

“Wonder where they were?” said Kenneth dryly.

“I suppose the butler found them,” said Max innocently.

Kenneth whistled, and looked rather peculiar, but his aspect was not noticed by his companion, who was experimenting on the best way to carry his gun.

“Loaded?”

“No, not yet.”

“Then don’t you load till I tell you. I’ll give you plenty of time. Come along.”

“Going for a sail, Maister Ken?” cried a voice; and Long Shon came waddling up, looking very red-faced and fierce.

“Yes, Shon, and we don’t want you in the boat.”

Long Shon grunted, and followed close behind.

“She could go instead of Scood.”

“Yes, I know she could, but she isn’t going,” replied Kenneth, mimicking the man’s speech. “What would Scood say if I left him behind?”

“She could show you an eagle’s nest up the firth.”

“So can Scood. He knows where it is!”

Long Shon pulled a battered brass box out of his pouch, and took a big pinch of snuff as he waddled behind.

“She knows where there’s a raven’s nest.”

“That’s what Scood told me this morning, Long Shon.”

“But she tidn’t know where there’s a nest o’ young blue hawks.”

“Yes, I do, father,” shouted Scood from the boat, in an ill-used tone, for they were now down on the rocks, and Scoodrach was paddling the boat in close.

“He wants me to turn you out, and take him instead, Scood. Shall I?”

“No!” said Scood undutifully.

“Petter tak’ me, Maister Ken, and she can teach the young chentleman how to hantle his gun.”

“Look here, Shon, the young chentleman knows how to hantle his gun. I don’t want you, and I don’t want your dogs. You, Sneeshing, come back.”

The ugly little Scotch terrier had waited till Scoodrach came near, and then crept down among the rocks to a crevice where he could get quietly into the water without a splash, and was paddling to the side of the boat, looking like an otter swimming.

Sneeshing whined and made a snap at the water.

“Do you hear, sir? Come back!” cried Kenneth; but just then Scood leaned over the side, gripped the little dog by the loose skin at the back of his neck, and lifted him into the boat.

Sneeshing’s first act was to run forward and give himself a tremendous shake to get rid of the water, and then he performed a sort of triumphant dance, and ended by placing his forepaws over the side, and barking at his fellows on the rock.

Bruce seemed to frown at him, showed his teeth, and then uttered a deep baying bark; but Dirk answered the challenge of his little companion by barking furiously, then running up and down upon the rocks for a few moments, watching the boat, as if calculating whether he could leap in; and ending by plunging into the sea with a tremendous splash.

“Come back, sir! Do you hear? come back!” shouted Kenneth, when Dirk raised his head from the water, and uttered a remonstrant bark, which seemed to say,—

“It isn’t fair. You’re letting him go.”

“Hit him with an oar, Scood,” cried Kenneth. “Here, you Dirk, come back, sir, or I’ll pepper you!”

As he spoke, Kenneth raised the gun he carried and took aim at the dog, who threw up his head and uttered a piteous howl, but kept on swimming up and down beside the boat.

“Will you come out, sir?”

Dirk howled again.

Click! click! sounded the hammers, as Kenneth drew the triggers; and Dirk now burst forth into a loud barking.

“She says she knew it wasn’t loated, Maister Ken,” cried Long Shon, laughing; “she’s a ferry cunning tog, is Dirk.”

“Hi, Dirk! look here,” cried Kenneth; and he threw open the breech of his gun and slipped in a couple of cartridges. “Now then, young fellow,” he continued, “the gun’s loaded now; so come back and stop ashore. You’re not going.”

“How-ow!”

Dirk’s cry was very pitiful, and, whether he understood the fact of the gun being loaded or not, he turned and swam slowly ashore, climbed on the rock and stood dripping and disconsolate, without trying to scatter the water from his coat.

“You’d better learn to mind, sir, or—”

Kenneth gave the dog’s ribs a bang with the gun barrel, and Dirk whined and crouched down, watching his master wistfully as he stepped off the rock into the boat, and then held out his hand to Max to follow.

“Mind what you’re doing, Scood,” cried Long Shon. “Ta wint’s going to change.”

Scood nodded, and began to hoist the sail; the wind caught it directly, and the boat moved swiftly through the water.

“You’re not going near the Mare’s Tail to-day, are you?” said Max anxiously, as Kenneth laid his gun across his knees.

“No, I wasn’t going; but if you want to— Here, Scood, let’s go and show him the Grey Mare’s Tail again.”

“No! No! No!” cried Max excitedly; “and pray don’t go into any dangerous places.”

He bit his lip with annoyance as soon as he had said the words, for he felt that it had made him seem cowardly in the eyes of his companions.

Scood grinned, and Kenneth said laughingly,—

“Oh, I thought you wanted to go there. We won’t go into any danger. Would you like a lifebelt?”

“No!” said Max indignantly; and then to himself, “I wish there was one here.”

“Tak’ care, Maister Ken. Ta wint’s going to change.”

“All right.”

“You, Scood, mind you ton’t mak’ fast ta sheet.”

Max looked round for the sheet, but he did not see it; and concluded that it was the sail that was meant.

“I do wish people wouldn’t treat us as if we were babies,” said Kenneth angrily. “Just as if I didn’t know how to sail a boat.”

He jumped up suddenly, and shouted back,—

“Hi, Shon!”

“Ay, ay!”

“Pray take care of yourself.”

“You tak’ care o’ yoursel’, Maister Ken, and never mind me.”

“Mind you don’t catch cold.”

“Eh?”

“Tie a handkerchief round your neck, and put your feet in warm water.”

“What ye mean, Maister Ken?”

“Get Mother Cumstie to come and hold your hand, for fear you should fall off the rock.”

“What ye talking aboot, sir?”

“Do be careful, Shon; there’s a good man.”

Long Shon stood on the rock, rubbing a great red, yellow-freckled ear; and then scratched one of his brawny cheeks, looking puzzled.

“Shall I send Scoody back, to lead you with a string?”

The distance was getting great now, and the man’s voice sounded faint as he put his hands to his mouth to make a speaking-trumpet.

“She ton’t know what you mean.”

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Scood.

“Go and teach your grandmother how to suck eggs,” roared Kenneth in the same way; but Shon shook his head, for he could not hear the words; and Kenneth sank down in the boat, and pressed the tiller a little to port, so as to alter the boat’s course slightly. “Scood,” he cried pettishly, “your father’s a jolly old woman.”

Scood, who was half leaning back, enjoying the fun of hearing his father bantered, suddenly started up in a stiff sitting position, and tore off his Tam o’ Shanter, to throw it angrily in the bottom of the boat, as his yellow face grew redder, and he cried fiercely,—

“No, she isna an auld woman. My father’s a ferry coot man.”

“No, he isn’t; he’s a regular silly old cow.”

“My father’s a man, and a coot man, and a coot prave man, and never wass an auld woman.”

“Get out, you old thick-head!” cried Kenneth.

“I ton’t say my het isna a coot thick het, Maister Ken; but my father is as coot a man as The Mackhai hersel’.”

“Oh, all right, then; Long Shon is a coot prave man, but his legs are too short.”

“She canna help her legs peing short,” said Scood, who was still ruffled; “put they’re ferry coot legs—peautiful legs.”

“Ha, ha!” laughed Kenneth.

“So they are,” cried Scood. “They’re not so long, put they’re much pigger rount than the Chief’s.”

“Bother! Hear him bragging about his father’s old legs, Max! Here, you come and take a lesson in steering,” said Kenneth, making fast the sheet, an act which made Scoodrach growl a little. “I can’t steer and shoot.”

“Shall she tak’ the tiller?” said Scood.

“No; you stop forward there, and trim the boat. Well, Sneeshing, can you see anything?”

The dog was standing on the thwart forward, resting his paws on the gunwale, and watching the flight of the gulls. At the sound of his master’s voice, he uttered a low bark.

“Whee-ugh, whee-ugh!” cried a bird.

“Look, Max, there he goes out of shot.”

“What is it?”

“A whaup.”

Max followed the flight of the bird eagerly as it flew off toward the shore of a long, low green island on their left.

“Now then, catch hold.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know how to steer,” said Max nervously.

“Oh, it’s easy enough. Keep her head like that, and if she seems to be going over, run her right up into the wind.”

“But I don’t know how.”

“Never mind that. Half the way to know how is to try—eh, Scood?”

“Yes; if she nivver tries, she can’t nivver do nothing at all so well as she should,” said Scood sententiously.

“Hear that, Max?” cried Kenneth, laughing. “Scood’s our philosopher now, you know.”

“Na, she isna a flossipher,” grumbled Scood. “Put look, Maister Ken—seal!”

He sat perfectly still, gazing straight at some black rocks off a rocky islet.

“Where?—where?” cried Max eagerly. “I want to see a seal.”

There was a soft, gliding motion on the black rock, and, almost without a splash, something round and soft and grey-looking plunged into the sea.

“You scared it away,” said Kenneth.

“Oh, I am sorry!”

“Don’t suppose the seal is; but I couldn’t have hit it to do any harm with this gun.”

The boat glided on, and all at once, from the water’s edge about a hundred yards away, up rose, heavily and clumsily, a great flapping-winged bird.

“What’s that?” cried Max, whose knowledge of birds save in books was principally confined to sparrows, poultry, and pigeons.

“Heron. Can’t you see his beak?”

“Yes, and long neck. What a long thin tail!”

Scood chuckled.

“What’s he laughing at?”

“You mind what you’re doing; you’ll have the boat over. Keep the tiller as I showed you.”

Max hastily complied.

“That isn’t his tail,” continued Kenneth, watching the heron, which was far out of shot. “Those are his long thin legs stretched out behind to balance him as he flies.”

Max said “Oh!” as he watched the bird, and came to the conclusion that he was being laughed at, but his attention was taken up directly after by a couple of birds rising from the golden-brown weedy shore they were gliding by—birds which he could see were black and white, and which flew off, uttering sharp, excited cries.

“What are those?”

“Pies.”

“Pies?”

“Yes; not puddings.”

“I mean magpies?”

“No; sea pies—oyster-catchers.”

“Do they catch oysters?”

“Never saw one do it, but they eat the limpets like fun. Now then, sit fast. Here’s a shot.”

Max sat fast and shrinkingly, for he was not accustomed to a gun being fired close to his ears. He watched eagerly as a couple of birds flew toward them with outstretched necks and quickly beating, sharply-pointed wings, but they turned off as the gun was raised, and, though Kenneth fired, there was no result.

“Waste of a shot,” he said, reloading.

“What were those?”

“Sheldrakes. How shy they are, Scood!”

Max thought it was enough to make them, but he did not say so, and he scanned the island as they sailed on, with the sensation of gliding over the beautiful sparkling water growing each moment more fascinating as his dread wore off. They were passing a glorious slope of shore, green and grey and yellow, and patched with black where some mass of shaley rock jutted out into the sea to be creamed with foam, while everywhere, as the tide laid them bare, the rocks were glistening with the golden-brown seaweed of different species. Blue sky, blue water, blue mountains in the distance: the scene was lovely, and the London boy’s eyes brightened as he gazed with avidity at the ever-changing shore.

“Is that a castle?” he said, as a square ruined tower gradually came into sight at the point of the island.

“Yes; there are lots about,” said Kenneth coolly. “There’s another yonder.”

He nodded in the direction of the mainland, so cut up into fiords that on a small scale it resembled the Norwegian coast, and, on shading his eyes, Max could see another mouldering pile of ruins similar in structure to Dunroe, with its square mass of masonry and four rounded towers at the corners.

“What castle is that?”

“Rannage. This one on the island is Turkree. Every chief used to have a place of that sort, and most of ’em built their castles on rocks like that sticking out into the sea.”

Max gazed eagerly at the ruined towers, the homes of jackdaws, bats, and owls, and he was beginning to dream about the old times when men in armour and courtly ladies used to dwell in these sea-girt fortalices, but his reverie was broken in upon by a sharp snapping bark from Sneeshing, and an exclamation from Scood.

“Oh, you beauty!” exclaimed Kenneth, as he gazed up at a great strong-winged, hawk-like bird, which went sailing by. “See, Max. Blue hawk.”

“Is that a blue hawk?” said Max, as he gazed wonderingly at the rapidity with which the great bird cut through the air.

“Yes; peregrine falcon, the books call it. There’s a nest yonder where we’re going.”

“Where?”

“On the face of that great grey cliff that you can see under the sail.”

Max gazed at the huge wall of rock about a mile away, and noted that the falcon was making for it as fast as its wings would beat.

“Are we going there?”

“Yes. I want the nest. I think there are young ones in it—late couple fledged.”

The rocky cliff looked so stern and forbidding, that it seemed as if climbing would be impossible.

“Then we’re going on to that rock on the other side—that tall crag. That’s where the eagles build.”

Max gazed hard at a faint blue mass of crag miles farther, and then turned half doubtingly to his companion.

“Eagles?” he said; “I thought there were none now.”

“But there are. There’s one pair build yonder every year, quite out of reach; but I mean to have a try for them some day. Eh, Scood?”

“Ou ay!” ejaculated the young gillie carelessly; “why no?”

“Are there any other wild things about?”

“Any wild things? plenty: badgers, and otters, and roe deer, and red deer. Look, there’s one right off against the sky on that hill. See?”

“Yes,” cried Max. “I can see that quite plainly.”

“Tah!” ejaculated Scood scornfully; “it’s a coo.”

“You, Scood, do you want me to pitch you overboard?” cried Kenneth.

“Nae.”

“Then hold your tongue.”

“Ou ay, Maister Kenneth, only ton’t tell the young chentleman lies. Look, Maister Max, there’s the teer, four, five, sax of them, over yon. See?”

“Yes, I can see them; but are they really deer?”

“No,” cried Kenneth; “they’re bulls.”

“They’re not. Ton’t you belief him. She can see quite plain. They’re teer.”

“If they were deer they’d bolt,” cried Kenneth, shading his eyes; “they wouldn’t stop there.”

“There they go,” cried Scood, as the graceful creatures trotted over the shoulder of a hill a mile or more away, all but one, which stood up against the sky, so that they could make out its great antlers.

“So they are,” said Kenneth. “Why, Max, we must go after that fellow to-morrow. How is it they’ve come down here?”

“Been shot at somewhere else.”

“Hadn’t we better go back and get the rifles?”

“Noo? No; let’s come to-morrow airly, and have a coot fair try.”

“Perhaps that will be best,” said Kenneth in assent, as the stag disappeared, and the boat sped on.

“But may you shoot stags?” said Max rather wonderingly.

“Of course, when they are on my father’s part of the forest. That’s his out there.”

“Forest? Where?” asked Max wonderingly.

“Why, there.”

“What, that place like a great common? There are no trees!”

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Scood. “Who ever heard of a forest with trees?”

“Hold your tongue, Scood, or I’ll pitch you overboard.”

“She’s always talking spout pitching her overpoard, but she never does,” muttered Scood.

“Our land runs right along there for three miles. Once upon a time The Mackhai’s forest ran along for thirty miles.”

“How is it that it does not now?”

“Father says the rascally lawyers—I beg your pardon. He was cross when he said that.”

Kenneth hastily changed the subject, as he saw his companion’s flushed countenance.

“I say, we’ll come out here fishing one day. Like fishing for mackerel?”

“I never did fish for them.”

“Oh, it’s rare sport. We have a couple of rods out each side as we sail along, and catch plenty when there’s a shoal. Looks high, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Max, as the boat glided on over the calm heaving water till they were right under a great grey wall of crag, which towered above their heads, and cast clearly-cut reflections on the crystal water over which they rode.

“That’s five hundred feet if it’s an inch,” said Kenneth, as he threw himself back and gazed up. “Look, Max.”

“What at?”

“See those two black fellows on that ledge with their wings open?”

“Yes. What are they—blackbirds?”

“Black enough. Cormorants drying their plumage.”

“But it hasn’t been raining.”

“No; but they’ve been diving, and got well wet. Why, they can swim under water like a fish.”

“Go on, if you like telling travellers’ tales,” said Max, smiling.

“Well, of all the unbelieving old Jews! Just as if I was always trying to cram you! I tell you they do. So do the gannets and dookkers. They dive down, and swim wonderfully under water, and chase and catch the fish. They’re obliged to.”

“Look out! there she goes,” cried Scoodrach.

Kenneth raised his gun, but the bird to which his attention was drawn was out of shot.

“That’s the hen bird, Scood.”

“Yes; and I can see where the nest is,” cried the young gillie.

“Where?”

Kenneth laid his hand on Max’s, which was upon the tiller, pressed it hard, and, to the lad’s surprise, the boat glided round till she faced the wind, and then lay gently rising and falling, with the sail shivering slightly in the breeze.

“Yes, that’s it, sure enough, on that ledge somewhere,” said Kenneth, after a long stare up at the face of the grey crag. “See, Max?”

“No.”

“Why, there, about fifty feet from the top. See now?”

“No.”

“Oh, I say! where are your eyes? See that black split where the rock seems to go in?”

“Yes, I see that.”

“Well, down a little way to the left, there’s a— Oh, look at that!”

A great sharp-winged bird came over the cliff from landward, and was about to glide down to the shelf of rock, when, seeing the boat and its occupants, the bird uttered a piercing shriek, and swept away northward.

“That’s the cock,” cried Kenneth. “No mistake about the young ones, Scood. Now, then, how shall we get ’em?”

Scood was silent.

“Do you hear, stupid?”

“Ou ay, she can hear, Maister Ken.”

“Well, how are we to get them?”

“Aw’m thenking,” said Scood, as he stared up at the beetling crag, which was for the most part absolutely perpendicular.

“Hit him on the head with that oar, Max, and make him think more quickly.”

“She couldna get up anywhere there,” said Scood slowly, as he scanned every cranny of the cliff face.

“Oh yes, we could, Scood.”

“Nay, Maister Ken, an’ ye see, if we was to tummle, it wouldn’t be into the watter, but on to the rocks.”

“Oh, we shouldn’t tumble. You could climb that, couldn’t you, Max?”

“No, not without a ladder,” replied Max thoughtfully; “and I never saw one long enough to reach up there.”

“No, I should think not. Look here, Scoody, one of us has got to climb up and take those young ones.”

“She couldna do it.”

“You’re afraid, Scoody.”

“Na, she isna feared, but she couldna do it.”

“Well, I shall try.”

“No, don’t; pray, don’t! It looks so dangerous.”

“Nonsense!”

“She couldna clamber up there fra the bottom,” said Scoodrach slowly, “but she could clamber up it fra the top.”

“No, you couldn’t, stupid; it hangs over.”

“An’ we could tak’ a rope.”

“Come on, then,” cried Kenneth, seizing the tiller; and Max felt his hands grow damp in the palms as he looked up at the top of the precipice, and saw in imagination one of his companions dangling from a rope.

“Which will be best—forward or backward?”

“Yonder where we landed to get the big corbies,” said Scoodrach; and the boat was run on for about a quarter of a mile, to where a ravine ran right up into the land, looking as if a large wedge had been driven in to split the cliff asunder.

The boat was steered in, the sail lowered, and Scood immediately began to set free one of the ropes.

“Think that’ll be strong enough, Scoody?”

“Na.”

“Then why are you casting it loose?”

Scoodrach gave his companions a cunning look, and made the rope fast to a ring-bolt, and then leaped out and secured the other end to a mass of rock.

“That’ll hold her,” he said. “Unto the ither.”

“Oh, I see what you mean now,” cried Kenneth, unfastening the mooring-rope from the ring in the bows. “Yes, that’ll do better.”

“She’ll holt twa laddies hanging on at aince,” said Scoodrach. “Na, na, ton’t to that.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’ll want ta crapnel.”

“Scood, you’re an old wonder!” cried Kenneth; “but you’ll have to carry it.”

“Ou ay, she’ll carry her,” said the lad coolly; and, getting on board again, he lifted and shouldered the little anchor, so that one of the flukes hung over his shoulder and the coil of rope on his arm.

“She’s retty,” he said.

“All right. Come on, Max, and we’ll send you down first.”

“Send me down first?” said Max, looking wildly from one to the other.

“To be sure. You can’t fall; we’ll tie the rope round you and let you down, and then you can turn round gently and get roasted in the sun.”

Scood laughed.

“You’re bantering me again,” said Max, after a few moments.

“Ah, well, you’ll see. Stop back if you’re afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” said Max firmly, but his white face spoke to the contrary. All the same, though, he drew a long breath, and jumped out of the boat to follow Scoodrach, who took the lead, tramping sturdily over the rough rocks of what proved to be a very stiff climb, the greater part of it being right down in the stony bed of a tiny torrent, which came gurgling from stone to stone, now dancing in the sunshine, and now completely hidden beneath the débris of ruddy granite, of which a dyke ran down to the sea.

“Hard work for the boots, Max, isn’t it?” said Kenneth, laughing, as he came along behind, active as a goat, and with his gun on his shoulder.

“Yes,” said Max, perspiring freely. “Isn’t there a better path than this?”

“No; this is the best, and it’s beautiful to-day. After rain this is a regular waterfall.”

“Ou ay, there’s a teal o’ peautiful watter comes town here sometimes,” said Scood.

They climbed on by patches of ragwort all golden stars, with the ladies’ mantle of vivid green, with its dentate edge, neat folds, and pearly dewdrop in the centre, and by patches of delicate moss, with the pallid butterwort peeping, and by fern and club moss, heath and heather, and great patches of whortleberry and bog-myrtle, every turn and resting-place showing some lovely rock-garden dripping with pearly drops, and possessing far more attraction for Max than the quest upon which they were engaged.

“Ah, only wait till you’ve been here a month,” cried Kenneth, “and your wind will be better than this.”

“Don’t you get as hot as I am with climbing?”

“I should think not, indeed. Why, Scood and I could almost run up here. Couldn’t we, Scood?”

“Ou ay; she could run up and run town too.”

“Is it much farther to the top?” said Max, after a few minutes’ farther climb; and he seated himself upon a beautiful green cushion of moss, and then jumped up again, to the great delight of his companions, who roared with laughter as they saw a jet of water spurt out, and noted Max’s look of dismay. For it was as if he had chosen for a seat some huge well-charged sponge.

“I—I did not know it was so wet.”

“Moss generally is on the mountain,” cried Kenneth. “You should sit down on a stone or a tuft of heath if you’re tired. Try that.”

“I’m so uncomfortably wet, thank you,” replied Max, “I don’t think I’ll sit down.”

“Oh, you’ll soon dry up again. Let’s go on, then. We’re nearly up at the top.”

Kenneth’s “nearly up at the top” proved to be another twenty minutes’ arduous climb, to a place where the water came trickling over a perpendicular wall of rock ten feet high, and this had to be scaled, Max being got to the top by Scood hauling and Kenneth giving him a “bump up,” as he called it. Then there was another quarter of an hour’s climb in and out along the steep gully, with the stones rattling down beneath their feet, and then they were out, not on the top, as Max expected, but only to see another pile of cliff away to his right, and again others beyond.

They had reached the top of the range of cliff, however, and away to their left lay the sea, while, as they walked on along the fairly level cliff, Max felt a peculiar shrinking sensation of insecurity, for only a few yards away was the edge, where the face fell down to the shore.

“Don’t walk quite so near,” he said nervously.

“Certainly not,” said Kenneth politely. “Do you hear, Scoody? don’t go so near. It’s dangerous. Come this way.”

As he spoke, he made his way, to Max’s horror, close to the verge, and, with a grin of delight, the young gillie followed him, to climb every now and then on the top of some projecting block right over the brink, and so that had he dropped a stone it would have fallen sheer upon the rocks below.

Max felt a strange catching of the breath, and his eyes dilated and throat grew dry; when, seeing his suffering, Kenneth came more inward.

“Why, what are you afraid of?” he said, laughing. “We’re used to it, and don’t mind it any more than the sheep.”

“Tut it looks so dreadful.”

“Dreadful? Nonsense! See what the sailors do when they go up aloft, with the ship swaying about. It’s quite solid here. Now, Scoody, aren’t we far enough?”

“Na. It’s just ahint that big stane where we shall gae doon.”

“No, no; it’s about here,” said Kenneth; and, going to the edge, he looked over.

Scoodrach chuckled.

“Can ye see ta nest, Maister Ken?”

“No; I suppose you’re right. There never was such an obstinate old humbug, Max; he’s always right. It’s his luck.”

Scoodrach chuckled again, and went on about fifty yards to where a rough block of stone lay in their path, and as soon as they were by this, he went to the brink and looked down, bending over so much that Max shivered.

“There!” he cried, and Kenneth joined him, to look over as well, apparently at something beneath the projecting rock which was hard to see.

“Yes, here it is!” he cried, “Come and have a look, Max.”

At that moment the party addressed felt as if he would like to cling to the nearest stone for an anchorage, to save himself from being blown off the cliff by some passing gust, and he stood still, staring at his companions on the brink.

“Well, why don’t you come? You can just see where the nest lies—at least you can make out the bits of stick.”

“I don’t think I’ll come, thank you,” said Max.

“Nonsense! Do be a little more plucky.”

“Yes,” said Max, making an effort over himself; and he took a couple of steps forward, and then stopped.

“Well,” cried Kenneth, “come along! There’s no danger.”

As he stood there, with his gun resting on the rock beside him, Max could not help envying his cool daring, and wishing he could be as brave.

But he could not, and, going down on hands and knees, he crept cautiously toward the brink, and then stopped and uttered a cry, for something made a leap at him.

It was only Sneeshing, who had been forgotten, and who had been enjoying himself with a quiet hunt all to himself among the heather. As he trotted up, he became aware of the fact that his young master’s visitor was turning himself into a four-footed creature, and he leaped at him in a friendly burst of greeting.

“I—I thought somebody pushed me,” gasped Max. “Call the dog away.”

“Down, Sneeshing!” cried Kenneth, wiping his eyes. “Oh, I say, Max, you made me laugh so—I nearly went overboard.”

Max gave him a pitiful look, and, from crawling on hands and knees, subsided to progression upon his breast as he came close to the edge of the rock and looked shudderingly down.

“See the nest?” said Kenneth, as he exchanged glances with Scoodrach.

“No, no. I can see a great shelf of stone a long, long way down,” replied Max, shuddering, and feeling giddy as he gazed at the shore, which seemed to be a fearful distance below.

“Well, that’s where the nest is, only right close in under the rock. Lean out farther—ever so far. Shall I sit on your legs?”

“No, no! don’t touch me, please! I—I’ll look out a little farther,” cried Max, in alarm.

“D’ye think if ye teuk her legs, and she teuk her heat, we could pitch her richt oot into the sea, Maister Ken?” said Scoodrach, in a low, hoarse voice.

Max shot back from the edge, and sat up at a couple of yards’ distance, looking inquiringly from one to the other, as if fearing some assault.

“You’ll soon get used to the cliffs,” said Kenneth. “I say, look, Scoody!”

He pointed out across the wide sea-loch, and Max could see that two sharp-winged birds were skimming along in the distance, and returning, as if in a great state of excitement about their nest.

“There they are, Max, the pair of them,” said Kenneth.

“Isn’t it cruel to take their nest, supposing you can get it?” said Max.

“Oh, very,” replied Kenneth coolly. “We ought to leave it alone, and let the young hawks grow up and harry and strike down the grouse and eat the young clucks. Why, do you know how many birds those two murder a day?”

“No,” said Max.

“Neither do I; but they do a lot of mischief, and the sooner their nest is taken the better.”

“I did not think of that. They’re such beautiful birds upon the wing, that it seems a pity to destroy them.”

“Yes; but only let me get a chance. Why, if we were to let these things get ahead along with the eagles, they’d murder half the young birds and lambs in the country. Now, Scood, how’s it to be?”

Scoodrach grunted, and kicked away the earth in different places, till he found where there was a good crevice between two pieces of rock, where, making use of the anchor as if it were a pickaxe, he dug out the earth till he could force down one fluke close between the stones till the stock was level, when he gave it a final stamp, and rose up.

“There,” he said, “twenty poys could not pull that oot.”

“Yes, that will bear, unless it jumps out,” said Kenneth. “Look here, Max, will you go down first?”

“I? Oh no!”

“All right, you shall go down after. Now, mind, you’ve got to keep your foot on the grapnel here, so as it can’t come out.”

“But you surely will not go down, and trust to that?”

“Trust to that, and to you, my lad. So, mind, if you let the anchor fluke come out, down I shall go to the bottom; and I don’t envy you the job of going to tell The Mackhai.”

“Oh, Kenneth!”

“Fact I’m the only boy he has got.”

“It is horrible!” panted Max, as Scoodrach advanced to the edge of the cliff and threw over the coil of rope, standing watching it as it uncurled rapidly ring by ring, till it hung taut.

Max saw it all in imagination, and the fine dew stood out upon his face as he pressed his foot with all his might down upon the anchor, and listened to and gazed at what followed.

“There she is,” said Scoodrach. “Will ye gang first, Maister Ken, or shall I?”

“Oh, I’ll go first, Scood. But how about the young birds? what shall I put them in?”

Scood hesitated for a moment, and then took off his Tam o’ Shanter.

“Ye’ll joost putt ’em in ta ponnet,” he said.

“No, no, that won’t do; they’d fall out.”

Scood scratched his curly red head.

“Aweel!” he exclaimed; “she’s cot a wee bit of string. Ye’ll joost tak’ it in yer sporran, and my twa stockings. Putt ane in each, and then tie ’em oop at the tops and hang ’em roond yer neck. Do ye see?”

“That will do capitally, Scood!” cried Kenneth, seizing the socks which the lad had stripped from his feet and thrusting them in his pocket. “Good-bye, Max.”

“No, no! don’t say good-bye! Don’t go down!” panted Max, in spite of himself; and then he stood pressing wildly down on the anchor, for Kenneth had glided over the side, and, after hanging from the verge for a moment, he gave his head a nod, laughed at Max, and disappeared, with Scoodrach leaning down with his hands upon his knees watching him.

For a few moments Max closed his eyes, while the rope jarred and jerked, and the iron thrilled beneath his foot. Then all at once the jarring ceased, and the rope hung loose.

Max opened his eyes in horror, the idea being strong upon him that Kenneth had fallen. But his voice rose out of the depths beyond the edge.

“Ask him if he’d like to come down and see.”

“No, no!” cried Max huskily; “I’d rather not.”

“She says she shall not come,” cried Scoodrach.

“Then let him stay where he is,” came from below. “Come and have a look, Scood.”

To Max’s horror, the gillie went down on his knees, seized the rope, and passed over the edge; Max watching his grinning countenance as he lowered himself down, with first his chest and then his face disappearing, lastly the worsted tuft on the top of his Tam o’ Shanter; and there was nothing to see but the pulsating rope, and the sea, sky, and blue mountains on the other side of the loch.

And now a strong desire to take his foot from the anchor, and creep to the edge of the cliff and look down, came over Max. He wanted to see Scoodrach descend to the shelf of rock and join Kenneth. He wanted, too, to look upon the falcon’s nest; for, after seeing these two descend so bravely, by a sudden reaction he felt ashamed of his own nervousness, and was ready to show them that he was not so cowardly after all.

All this was momentary; and there the rope kept on vibrating and the anchor jarred as Scoodrach descended; while, as Max pressed the stock down, and it rose and fell like a spring beneath his foot, he kept his eyes fixed upon the edge of the cliff, where the rope seemed to end, when there was a dull twang, as if the string of some gigantic instrument had snapped, and, to his horror, the rope rose from the top of the cliff as if alive, and struck and coiled round him with a stinging pain.

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