"Look out!" cried Kenneth suddenly.

"Why? What?"

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

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



CHAPTER SEVEN.

SHON AND TAVISH.

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

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

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

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

"Why not?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What, with jam?"

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

"Extravagant, you mean?"

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

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

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

"I hope not."

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

"Am I?"

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

"I don't understand you!"

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

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

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

"Haven't time?"

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

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

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

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

"No, father, not half a one."

"Oh, thank you, I am indeed."

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

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

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

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

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

"How about the deer, father?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Max stared, and Kenneth laughed at his wonderment.

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

"Breaking up the deer?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh yes, very," replied Max.

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

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

Shon chuckled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Shust rest hersel' and smock her pipe."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER EIGHT.

IN THE OLD TOWER.

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

"Who is old Donald—is he a chief?"

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

"Oh!"

"This way."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Did he give you plenty?"

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

"But, I say—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scoodrach went off scowling, and Kenneth scratched his head.

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

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

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

"Dangerous!" said Max, shrinking.

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

"But why are we going up there?"

"Never mind; come on."

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

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

"But—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Got your foot up? Ready?"

"Yes."

"There now, spring."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's right."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Manage? Manage what?"

"Does he always stay there?"

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

"Then he is not always there?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER NINE.

SALMON-FISHING.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What for?"

"We might meet somebody."

"Well, of course. Suppose we did?"

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

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

"Did I say something funny, then?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where is the river, then?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Cames!"

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

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

"Like it?" cried Kenneth.

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

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

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

"To fish?"

"Yes, of course."

"Are there salmon here, then?"

"Yes; there's one in every pool, I'll bet; and I daresay there's one where the little fall comes down."

"What! There?" cried Max, as he looked up and up, till about two thousand feet above them a thread of glancing silver seemed to join other threads of glancing silver, like veins of burnished metal, to come gliding down, now lost to sight among the verdure of the mountain, now coming into view again, till they joined in one rapid rivulet, which had cut for itself a channel deep in the mountain side, and finally dashed out from beneath the shade of the overhanging birches, to plunge with a dull roar into the river nearly opposite where they stood.

"Now then," said Kenneth, "I'm supposing that you have never tried to catch a salmon."

"Puir laddie!" muttered the great forester; "a'most a man, and never caught a fush! Hey! where are ye gaun wi' that basket, Scood?"

"Never you mind, Tavvy. I sent him," said Kenneth sharply, as Scoodrach plunged in among the rocks and bushes behind them, and disappeared.

"I think you had better fish," said Max shrinkingly, "I have never tried."

"Then you are going to try now. Take this rod. Hold it in both hands, so. There, you see there is a grand salmon fly on."

"Yes, I see."

"Well, now, do just as I do. There's not much line out. Give it a wave like this, just as if you were making a figure eight in the air, and then try to let your fly fall gently just there."

Max had taken the rod, and stood watching Kenneth, who had taken the other, and, giving it a wave, he made the fly fall lightly on the short grass beside the river.

"Is this a salmon leap, then?" asked Max innocently.

"No; but there's one higher up. Why?"

"Because I thought the salmon must leap out of the river on to the grass to take the fly."

"Hoo—hoo—hoo! Hoogle—hoogle—hoogle! I beg your pairdon!"

Tavish had burst out into a kind of roar, as near to the above as English letters will sound. Perhaps he was laughing in Gaelic, with a cross of Scandinavian; but, whatever it was, he seemed heartily ashamed of his rudeness, and looked as solemn as a judge.

"Don't laugh, Tavvy," cried Kenneth, to conceal his own mirth. "Why, can't you see that I was making you practise on the grass before letting you throw in the water."

"She mustn't splash the watter," said Tavish sententiously.

"Scare the salmon away. Now then, try and throw."

Max made a clumsy effort; the line whistled through the air, and Tavish gave a violent start.

"She nearly hookit her in the nose!" he cried.

Max stopped short, looking horribly perplexed; but Kenneth urged him on.

"Try again," he said. "Like that, and that, and that. It's easy enough. Try and throw the fly lightly right away from you."

Max tried and tried, but with very indifferent success, Tavish making him very nervous by shaking his head from time to time.

"No, no! not that way; this way!" cried Kenneth.

Max tried again.

"Now she's trying to hook her in the eye," muttered the forester, moving out of range.

"Try if you can throw it a little worse," said Kenneth mockingly.

"I couldn't," sighed Max.

"Try."

Max threw once more.

"There, what did I say?" cried Kenneth.

"Try to throw a little worse; and I did," said Max apologetically.

"And you threw ten times better. He'll soon throw a fly, Tavvy."

"Ay, she'll soon throw a fly," said the forester.

"There; now you shall try and throw one downstream," said Kenneth.

"No, no; I'd rather you would try," cried Max.

"I can try any time. I want you to learn now. Look here! you see those stepping-stones leading out to that big block?"

"What! right out there in the rushing water?"

"Yes; that's a splendid stand."

"She's a coot stand, a ferry coot stand," said Tavish. "She's caught manny a coot fush there."

"But it looks so dangerous," pleaded Max.

"Nonsense!"

"But suppose I fell in?"

"Then Tavvy would fish you out with the gaff. Now don't be a coward. Go out there, and try and throw your fly just over that big rock close in-shore. See where I mean?"

"Yes, I see," said Max dolefully; "but I shall never do it."

"You won't without you try," cried Kenneth. "Now go out, and keep on trying to throw till you make the fly fall on the other side of that big block."

"But there's no watter there," said Tavish.

"Hold your tongue. You can't see behind it," said Kenneth. "How do you know?"

"She knows there's no watter there, and if there was it wouldn't hold a fush. You let him throw the flee yonder."

"Am I to fish with a flea?" said Max.

"No, no, no!" cried Kenneth, stamping about with mirth, while another chopped-off laugh seemed to come from below. "Tavvy means a fly. You go on and do as I say."

"But, Master Ken, there shall not be a fush there."

"You Tavvy, if you say another word, I'll pitch you into the river."

The great Highlander chuckled softly, like a big turkey practising a gobble, and took off his bonnet to rub his head, while Kenneth hurried Max on, and stood on the shore, while the visitor walked out over the stones amongst which the river ran and foamed, Max looking, rod in hand, like a clumsy tight-rope dancer balancing himself with his pole.

Kenneth held up his hand to Tavish, who stared wonderingly, and took off his cap to look inside it as if he expected an explanation there, but he put it on again, and stood watching his young master and the visitor wonderingly, as the latter, urged by Kenneth, made an attempt to throw the fly, which fell almost at his feet.

"There's no watter on the far side," muttered Tavish.

Whish went the line again.

"Well done, Max. Go on. You'll soon do it, and catch a salmon," cried Kenneth.

"It's very awkward standing here," said Max appealingly.

"You're all right. Throw away. Get your fly the other side of the stone."

"Phwhat for will she get the flee the other side o' the stane?" muttered Tavish, tugging at his beard.

"Now, another, Max. Go on."

"Noo anither, she says to the puir feckless laddie."

Whizz!

Max made a desperate throw, and, to his own wonderment, the line, with the fly at the end, passed right over the great block of stone lying close to the shore.

"Is that right?" said Max.

"Yes. Bravo! capital! You'll have one. Don't strike too hard if you have a touch."

"Stanes and spates!" roared the great Highlander, leaping from the ground in his excitement. "Strike, laddie, strike! That's gran'! Haud oop yer rod. Keep the point o' yer rod oop. Noo, Master Kenneth laddie, ye shall see what tooks place. Keep oop the point o' yer rod, laddie. Dinna haud on by the reel. Let the fush rin! let the fush rin! Hech! but it does a man's hairt gude to see."

"It's tugging so, it will pull me in," cried Max, whose face was flushed with excitement as his rod bent nearly double.

"No, no; stand fast. Keep a tight line," cried Kenneth, who seemed just as excited. "It's a rare big one, Max."

"Ay, it's a fine fush," cried the forester. "It's nae kelt. Shall I go and help the laddie?"

"No, no, Tav; let him catch it himself. Look how it pulls!"

"But it don't rin. Has she hookit a stane? Na it's a fush, and a gude fush. Dinna be hasty, laddie. I'll be ready wi' the gaff. Let her rin, and—Stanes and spates! did ye ever see the like o' that, Maister Kenneth? She's caught a watter-hen!"

For at that moment, after the rod had bent double nearly, and been jerked and tugged till Max could hardly keep his footing, the invisible fish behind the rock suddenly seemed to dart upward, and, as the rod straightened, the captive to the hook flew right up in the air and fell with a splash on the side of the stone nearest to where Max stood staring at Tavish who waded into the water knee-deep, and with a dexterous jerk of the gaff hook got hold of the captive and dragged it ashore.

"Sure eneuch, it's a watter-hen," cried Tavish excitedly. "Ye've caught a watter-hen, maister, and it's no' a fush. D'ye hear, Maister Kenneth, and did ye ever hear o' such a thing? It's a watter-hen."

"No, Tavvy," cried Kenneth, who had fallen back on the heather, and was kicking up his heels, as he roared with laughter,—"no, it isn't a water-hen; it's a cock." The forester took up the bird he had hooked, and examined its drenched feathers and comb before letting its head swing to and fro.

"Why, its weam's all loose," he cried, "and it's quite deid! Eh, but it's ane o' yer cames, Maister Kenneth. Here," he cried, running to the rock and making a dab with the gaff, which hooked something, "come oot, Scood! They've peen making came o' ye, maister. I thought there was something on the way."

"It's too bad," said Max reproachfully, as Scood, hooked by the kilt, allowed himself to be dragged forward, grinning with all his muscular force, while Kenneth lay back roaring with laughter, and wiping his eyes.

"Yes, it was too bad," he said feebly, and in a voice half choked with mirth. "But never mind; you show him now, Tawy. Make him catch a salmon."

"No," said Max, stepping back and laying down the rod; "you are only making fun of me."

"Nay, I'll no' mak' fun o' thee, laddie," said Tavish. "Come wi' me, and ye shall get a saumon, and a gude ane. Let them laugh, but bide a wee, and we'll laugh at them."

Max shook his head, but the great forester seemed to be so thoroughly in earnest, and to look so disappointed, that, after a moment's hesitation, he stooped and picked up the rod once more, while Tavish took hold of his arm and led him toward another stone, upon which whosoever stood had the full command of a broad deep pool, into which the waters of the river surged and were slowly eddied round and round.

"Now then," said Tavish, making a careful examination of the fly, "ye'll do as I tell ye, and before long we'll hae a bonnie fush."



CHAPTER TEN.

MAX'S FIRST "FUSH."

If Max Blande could have done as he liked, he would have said, "No, thank you, I would rather see you fish," but, with a strong feeling upon him that if he refused to make another trial he would either be laughed at or looked upon as a contemptible coward, he took the long rod, with the line sufficiently drawn from the reel to allow the gaudy fly to hang down by his hand.

"Ye'll tak' haud o' the flee, or maybe ye'll hae the hook in your han'," cried Tavish. "That's richt. Noo ye'll throw the flee richt oot yonner, and keep drawing a little more line frae the reel at ivery cast. I'll tell ye whaur to throw. Noo then, tak' your stan' richt oot on that big stane whaur the watter comes doon."

"But it looks so wet and slippery."

"The watter always mak's the stanes wet."

"But it's dangerous."

Tavish looked at him with astonishment. He could not conceive the possibility of any one seeing danger in going with a spring from rock to rock among which the beautiful river rushed, and his blue eyes opened widely.

"I mean," faltered Max, "that it would be so easy to slip in."

"Oh, I ken the noo," cried Tavish. "Dinna be skeart, laddie. Ye think she'll catch a cold. Hey, but ye needna be feart o' that. The watter comes doon fresh frae the loch, and she wouldna gie cold to a bairn, let alane a bonnie young laird like you."

Max glanced at Kenneth, who was busily tying on a fly and talking to Scoodrach. So, drawing a long breath, he stepped from the bank on to the first stone, after a stride of about a yard, and then stood still, for the water rushing swiftly round him made him feel dizzy.

"Noo the next," said Tavish encouragingly; and, comforting himself with the idea that if he was to fall into the rushing water it seemed shallower farther out than close in-shore, where it looked very black and deep, he stepped out to the next stone, and then to the next, wondering the while that nothing had happened to him. Then on and on from stone to stone, feeling giddy, excited, and in a nervous state which impelled him on, though all the while he seemed to have a tragedy taking place before his eyes—of one Max Blande, visitor from London, slipping from a rock out in the midst of that rushing river, and being rolled over and over in the foam, tossed here, banged there against projecting masses of rock, gliding round and round in smooth black whirlpools, and finally being fished out a mile below, dead and cold, and with his clothes clinging to him.

He was just about to get on to the imaginary scene of his own funeral being conducted in the most impressive manner, when the voice of the forester made him start.

"Gude—gude—gude!" he cried. "Why, ye can leap frae stane to stane as weel as young Scood."

The praise acted like a spur, and Max pressed on over the rest of the rocks till he came to the last, quite a buttress nearly in the middle of the stream.

"Ye'll no' go farther," cried Tavish.

Max did not intend to try, for the next step would have been into the cold boiling water.

"Got one yet, Max?" shouted Kenneth, his voice sounding weak and faint in the roar of the hurrying stream.

Max shook his head without daring to turn, as he stood there with the foaming, glancing water all round, steadying himself, and forgetting all about the object for which he had come, his one idea being that his object there was to balance himself and to keep from falling.

"Noo," shouted Tavish, and his voice electrified Max, who nearly dropped the rod. "That's the way, laddie. Tak a good grip o' the butt and mak' your first cast ahint that black stane. She shall hook a fush there. Leuk, did ye see the fush rise?"

Max was trying to make out among scores the black stone "ahint" which he was to throw his "flee," and in a kind of desperation he gave the rod a wave as if it was a great cart-whip, and threw.

That is to say, he did something, but where the ornamented hook fell, or whether it fell at all, he had not the slightest idea.

"A coot cast!" cried Tavish; "richt for the spot, but not long eneuch. Pull oot some more line, laddie, and do't again."

Max obeyed, trying to repeat his former performance in the same blind fashion, and involuntarily he cast the fly in the very pool the forester had pointed out, the eddy catching it and giving it a swirl round before carrying it out of the smooth black water and then away down-stream.

"There, she will hae the fush directly. See her rise?"

Max made no reply, but let the fly run to the extent of the line, and, without being told, cast again, and looked at Tavish as if to silently ask if that was right.

To his surprise, the forester was dancing about frantically upon the shore, while Kenneth and Scoodrach seemed to be roaring with laughter.

"Have I done anything very stupid?" said Max to himself.

"Ye winna catch a fush like that," cried Tavish; and the next moment Max looked at him in horror, for he came with a rush across the stones, and in the most reckless manner, as if at any moment he must fall headlong into the water.

Nothing of the kind. Tavish was a giant in size, but as sure-footed as a goat, and in very few seconds he was alongside Max, bending down to take his keen knife out of his stocking, and looking fiercely at the fisher.

"What have I done?" Max's lips parted to say, but they did not utter the words, for Tavish had seized him by the jacket, and for the moment ideas of attacks by savage Highlanders made upon peaceful Southrons flashed into the lad's brain and faded away.

"She'll never catch a fush like that," cried Tavish.

"But I did try," said Max in remonstrance.

"She says she did try," cried Tavish scornfully. "Turn roond, she's got ta flee in her pack."

"A flee? Back? Oh, I see!" cried Max, yielding to the pressure of the Highlander's hand, and turning half round.

"Mind. Does she want to co into the watter?"

But for the strong grasp upon his arm, Max would have stepped off the rock and gone headlong, but he hastily found a place for his erring foot, and stood still while a slight slit was made in the back of his tweed jacket, and the salmon fly which had hooked in there was cut loose.

"Why didn't you leave it, Tav?" Kenneth shouted, with his hands to his mouth.

"There, now, she'll co pack. Cast again, laddie. She'll soon find ta way."

Tavish trotted back, and Max stood for a few moments, with his brow wrinkled up, watching the forester till he was back ashore.

"Look, laddie, she's rising," he shouted. "Noo cast yonder ahint that stane."

Max had not noticed the rise, but he grasped now the spot where the fish was supposed to be, and made a dash with his rod, sending the line first, the fly after it, and the top of the rod into the stream with a splash.

"Acain! cast acain!" cried Tavish; and Max threw and threw his fly, never going two-thirds of the way toward the pool, where a salmon was patiently waiting for such good things as might be washed down and into the great hole behind the stone.

As the tyro whisked and waved the rod about, the natural result was that he ran out more and more line, which, thanks to the rushing water, was saved from entanglement.

"It's of no use," he said at last despondently, after nearly overbalancing himself, and feeling very dizzy once more.

The remark was meant for the forester's ears, but the sound drowned it, and the forester shouted,—

"Noo acain, laddie! Get a good grip o' the butt, and send the flee close under the stane; ta fush is there."

Max drew a long breath, and, after the fashion shown him, gave the rod two or three good swishes in the air, the line flying out well behind, and then with all his might he made a tremendous down-stroke, whose effect was to send the fly right across the pool and on to the black stone, where it caught and held on.

"Drop your rod!" roared Tavish. "Na, na, the point, laddie, the point!"

Tavish was just in time. Another moment, and the rod would have all been in the river. As it was, only the point splashed in, and as the line was slackened the hook fell over sideways and then glided slowly down the side of the rock and dropped lightly into the pool, to go gliding round.

Splash!

"Up wi' the rod, laddie! up wi' the point o' your rod, laddie!" cried Tavish excitedly. "She's cot ta fush—she's cot ta fush!"

Max obeyed, and raised the point of his rod, and then felt a tremendous tug, which sent an electric shock through him.

"She's cot him! she's cot him!" cried Tavish, dancing about on the shore and waving the gaff hook he held. "Noo, my laddie, never let the fush rin without feeling your han'."

Max heard the forester's shout, but hardly comprehended his words in the excitement of feeling the fish he had hooked dart here and there from side to side of the black-looking pool, and keeping so tight a line that all at once there was a flash of silver, and a goodly salmon leaped right out of the water and fell with a great splash.

"Ah, she's gone!" cried Tavish, stamping with rage. "Nay, hold on! Let her rin the noo. An' dinna catch haud too tight o' the line."

Max was too confused to obey his instructions, but, fortunately, he did the right thing. For the fish darted away so furiously that the lad loosed his hold upon the line to a great extent, and contented himself by keeping the hard plait close to the rod, so that it was checked a good deal in running through his hand. But all the same the winch began to sing, as, after two or three more darts, the fish dashed off out of the pool and down the stream.

The checking it received was greater than would have been dealt out by an experienced fisher, and the result was that, after darting down about forty yards, the salmon reached another pool, where, after it had sailed round two or three times, there was a sudden cessation of movement, and a dead weight hung at the end of the line.

"She's got the line around a stane," cried Tavish, running over the stepping-stones, gaff in hand. "She'll lose the fush! she'll lose the fush."

"Has it gone?" asked Max rather piteously.

"Let her tak' a grip o' the rod, my lad," said the forester; and, catching the long supple wand from the boy's hand, he stood thinking for a few moments winding in a few yards of the line.

"Nay, she's on safe," he cried, handing the rod back to Max.

"What shall I do now?" said Max nervously.

"She shall play ta fush till she's tired, and then she will use the gaff."

"But I'm tired now."

"But ta fush isna tired, laddie. Wind in, and keep a tight line."

To Max's wonder, Tavish went back ashore, and ran down the bank past Kenneth and Scood, to begin picking up big stones and hurling them right into the middle of the pool, so as to disturb the fish, which lay sulking at the bottom, in spite of the steady strain kept on its head.

Tavish's efforts were, however, unsuccessful, and in his excitement the forester began to abuse the salmon, calling upon it to move.

At last, though, as Max stood upon his tiny rock island with his rod bent, gazing wistfully down at the pool, Tavish sent in a great piece of slaty shale, which fell with a great splash, and then began to zigzag down through the dark water with so good a movement, that it touched the fish on the flank and started it off once more.

"Haud up ta rod! haud up ta rod!" cried Tavish.

"Hooray, Max! you'll have it now," cried Kenneth; and all watched the fisherman now with the greatest interest, as the salmon darted here and there, sometimes with a good stress on the rod, often, in spite of Tavish's adjurations, with a loose line, for when it rushed toward the holder of the butt, Max could not be quick enough with the winch.

Now it was one side of the pool, now close in, and Max's excitement increased till he reached fever heat, and then something happened.

The fish had rushed right up toward him, as if about to seek the upper pool, in which it had been hooked, when, apparently feeling itself free, from the pressure being taken off as Max wound up rapidly, the prize turned suddenly, leaped out, giving the water a sounding slap with its tail, and then darted off down the river.

"Haud your rod up! Haud your rod up!" cried Tavish frantically; but Max did not respond this time, and the result was that there came a sudden snatch, as it were, at the rod, the winch sung for a moment, and as Max tried to stop it, he had his finger pinched.

He had not time to think of that, though, for the next instant there was a sharp snatch and a heavy jerk which drew his arms out, and, before he could recover himself, he lost his balance and went headlong into the pool, while as he rose it was right in the full rush of the stream, which rolled him over, and, after tangling him in his line, before the boy could realise the position, he was being swept away rapidly down toward the sea loch a couple of miles below.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

"TWA-AN'-TWENTY PUN'."

It was a curious sensation, but, in spite of the danger, Max Blande felt no fear. One moment he was below the surface, the next he was in some shallow, being rolled over by the rushing water and carried here and there. He was conscious of catching at the masses of rock against which he struck, but they were slippery, and his hands glided over them.

Now he had his head above water for a few moments, and caught a few panting breaths as, in the wild confusion, noise of the water, and the dizzy, wildering state of his brain, he fought for life. Then the river surged against, and seemed to leap at him, as if to sweep him right away as something which cumbered the easy flow, and proved more manageable than the blocks of stone which broke up the river into a hundred streams.

And all through his rapid progress downward, Max was conscious of something tugging at, and jerking him away whenever he strove to catch hold of the nearest stone, till, what with the scalding, strangling sensation in his nostrils, the deadening feeling of helplessness and weakness coming over him rapidly, all seemed to be darkening into the semblance of a feverish dream, from which he was roused by a fresh jerk.

As soon as he could draw a breath which did not choke and make him cough painfully, he found that he was gazing up in the face of the great forester, who was holding him in some way, as he stood upon a stone, while the water kept on dragging and striving to bear him away.

"Oh, she's cot the puir laddie richt. You come here and tak' a grip o' the gaff handle, Master Kenneth, an' she'll have her oot."

The confusion was passing over, and Max could see more clearly, as Kenneth came wading out through the rushing water to the stone upon which Tavish stood.

"He's all right, Tav," cried Kenneth, whose serious face gradually grew mirthful. "Give us hold."

The forester passed the gaff handle, and, as soon as Kenneth had it tightly, stepped down into the torrent up to his waist, and began to wade.

"Keep a tight haud," he cried.

"I've got him," said Kenneth. "Look here, Scood, here's a fish."

"Ye canna see the fush," said Tavish excitedly. "She wouldna lose that saumon now for twa pun'."

Max was thoroughly awake now to the fact that the gaff hook was through the collar of his jacket, and that the stream seemed to keep on tugging at him, to get him free.

Perilous as was his position, seeming as it did to him that his life depended on the secure hold of the hook in the cloth of his jacket, he could not help feeling some annoyance that Kenneth and the forester should talk laughingly about him, as if he were a fish.

But he had no time to think of self, for Tavish had waded below him, and passed his arm about his waist.

"Got the line, Tav?" cried Kenneth.

"Ay, she's cot ta line, and ta fush is on, but what a sorry tangle she's in, wrapped roond and roond the laddie, and ta most peautiful rod we've cot proke in twa. Here, Scood, come and tak' haud o' ta rod, while we ket him on ta stane."

Scood came wading toward them, holding on by the rocks, for the pressure of the water was sufficient to have taken him off his legs; and now, for the first time, Max awoke to the fact that he was holding tightly to the rod, which had snapped in two just above the bottom joint, and that the stout salmon line was about his body, while the top portion of the rod was some distance away along the line, kept in place by the rings.

"Hae a care, laddie—hae a care!" cried Tavish. "Cot ta rod, Scood?"

"Yes; but ta line's all about him."

"Never mind tat. Noo I'll help ye. Let's ket her on to ta rock."

Max made some effort to help himself, but he was tied up, and he had to submit while the forester lifted and Kenneth pulled him out.

"Noo she's richt," cried Tavish.

"No, no; let's get him ashore."

"Without ta fush!" cried Tavish indignantly. "D'ye think ta laddie would like to lose ta fush aifter a rin like tat?"

He shook his head and thrust his bared arm down into the water, as Max sat shivering on the rock.

"Why, ta line's doon here aboot ta laddie's legs," cried Tavish, rising up with the strong fine plait in his hand. "Noo, Scood, stan' awa. She's richt noo, Maister Kenneth; so rin ashore again, and go below to yon stane. She'll try to bring ta fush in for ye to gaff her there. Or would ta Southron chentleman like to gaff her fush her nainsel?"

"No, no," said Max, with a shiver. "I want to get ashore."

"I wouldn't lose a fush like that for twa pun'!" cried Tavish again; and, as Kenneth stepped down into the water, gaff in hand, waded ashore, and ran downward among the rocks, dripping like an otter, Tavish slowly waded to bank, drawing the line slowly and carefully, and passing it through his hands.

"See him yet, Tav?" cried Kenneth from where he stood out in the stream. "Sure he's on?"

"Ay, she can feel her. It's a gran' fush, Maister Kenneth, but ta whole hundred yairds o' line was rin off ta reel. She wouldna lose ta fush for twa pun'."

As he spoke he manipulated the line very cleverly, drawing it in foot by foot, and then letting it go again as the fish made a rush, but only for the line to be steadily drawn upon again, so as if possible to manoeuvre the captive close to the rock where Kenneth stood, gaff hook in hand, ready to strike.

"Oh, it's a gran' fush!" cried Scood excitedly, as he ceased from freeing Max from the line, and looked on.

For the fish was not yet wearied out, and made a brave struggle for freedom, but, in spite of its efforts and the chances in its favour, the forester only having the line, and no springy rod with its playing power, the end seemed to be drawing nigh. Again and again it was drawn towards Kenneth, and again and again it dashed away, the man letting the line run; but every time he had more line in hand, and the salmon's tether grew more short.

"Hey, but she's well hookit!" cried Tavish; "and she wouldna lose that fush for ten pun'."

There was another rush, and a great bar of silver flashed out into the sunshine and fell with a splash upon a black stone half covered with foam.

"Leuk at that, maister," cried Scood excitedly.

It was a momentary look, for the fish gave a flap with its tail and glided off into deep water, and made a fresh dash for liberty.

There was a steady draw of the line, though, and Tavish waded slowly more in-shore.

"That will do it, Tavvy," shouted Kenneth, as the fish was drawn very close to the rock upon which he stood. "No, he's off again."

"Ay, she's a gran' fush," cried the forester; "and she wouldna lose her noo for fifty pun'."

Away went the salmon, taking out more line than ever this time, the water dripping like a shower of diamonds from the keeper's fingers, as the fine silk plait ran through his hands.

"Can ye set any more free, Scood?" he cried.

"Na; it's a' of a tangly twiss," cried Scood.

"Then we'll hae her the noo. Leuk oot, Maister Ken. She's coming richt."

Tavish steadily drew in the line, and this time the salmon came well within Kenneth's reach.

Max, in spite of his chilly sensations, sat watching intently, the excitement gaining upon him, and, in the midst of a breathless pause, Kenneth was seen to bend a little lower with outstretched hands, to straighten himself suddenly, and then step down into the shallow water and run splashing ashore, dragging after him a glistening salmon right up on to the rugged, grassy shore, where the silvery prize made a few spasmodic leaps, and then lay shining in the sun.

"Hooray!" shouted Kenneth, waving the gaff.

"Hey, hey, hey!" roared Scood, dancing about in the water and splashing Max.

"Hey hi!" roared Tavish, wading toward the rock where Max was seated. "She's a gran' fush, and she wouldna ha' lost her for twa hundert pun'. There, laddie," he continued, as he reached Max, "ye heukit her wunnerful; and ye've caught the gran'est fush this year. She's twa-an'-twenty pun'. Come along."

"How shall I get ashore?" said Max, with a shiver.

"Stan' up, laddie, and get on my pack. Nivver mind a drap o' watter. Maister Ken there's got the whusky, and we'll christen ta fush and troon a' ta colds in ta old kintra."

Max hesitated for a moment, and then, with some assistance, stood up, and let himself be drawn on to the Highlander's back.

"I shall make you so wet," he said apologetically.

"Ant ta whusky'll mak' us poth try," cried Tavish, laughing. "Why, ye're tied up in a knot, laddie, and ye've proke ta pest rod; and pring it along, Scoody lad, and ton't get ta line roond ta stanes."

"I'm very sorry I broke the rod," said Max apologetically again.

"Nivver mind ta rod; it's her nainsel' as can ment any rod. We've caught a wunnerfu' saumon, laddie. She's a gran' fush. There, noo, we'll get ye oot o' the tangle. What is she, Maister Kenneth— twa-an'-twenty pun'?"

"Five-and-twenty," cried Kenneth, as Max was deposited on the grass.

"Na, na; twa-an'-twenty pun'. I ken the size," cried Tavish. "Noo, laddie, stan' still; and you, Scoody, tak' a haud of the reel, and walk roond and roond till ye get all the line, and wind her up as ye go."

Scood took the reel, and went round, releasing Max from the bonds the river had thrown about him in rolling him over and over, after which he forgot his dripping state, and walked to where the salmon lay.

"Ye'll tak' joost a sma' taste, sir, to keep oot ta cold," said the forester, offering the cup from the bottom of the flask to Max, who shook his head.

"Mebbe ye're richt," said Tavish, tossing off the spirit; "it's a fine hailsome trink for a grown man, but—Na, na, Scood, if ye're thirsty, laddie, there's plenty coot watter in the river."

"Yes, don't give Scoody any," said Kenneth.

"Nay, Maister Kenneth, I winna gie him a taste. Ye'll be takkin' a wee drap yersel', I'm thenking?"

"Not I, Tavvy. Now then, it's a twenty-five pounder, isn't it?"

Tavish wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, gazing thoughtfully down at the salmon, after which he laid the butt of one of the fishing-rods beside it, and compared the captive with a nick on the side before drawing a piece of knotted string from his sporran, which had to be taken off and drained, for it was half full of water.

"Nay," he said, as he knelt on one knee, after measuring the girth of the fish with great deliberation, "I said twa-an'-twenty pun', Maister Ken, but I'll gie ye anither pun'. She's three-an'-twenty pun' barely."

"Five-and-twenty, Tavvy!"

"Nay, sir, three-an'-twenty, and not an ounce ower, and the laddie's caught the best fush this year. Noo then, I'm thenking I can show him where there's anither. Ye'll lend her your rod?"

"Oh yes. Here you are, Max!"

"I think I would rather go home and change my wet things," said Max.

"Nivver mind a drap o' watter, laddie. Watter like this winna gie you cauld. Have a gude rin, and then—"

"Not to-day, Tav," said Kenneth. "We're all wet through, so let's go back. Who's going to carry the twenty-five pound salmon?"

"Ta fush weighs three-an'-twenty pun' and nae mair, Maister Kenneth."

"Ah, well, we'll see as soon as we get back," said Kenneth; and back they tramped to Long Shon's bothy, that worthy sitting at the door smoking a pipe, and smiling broadly as he saw his son approaching with the goodly fish, the circulation brought by the walk having chased away the sensation of cold.

"Here, Shon, weigh this fish," cried Kenneth imperiously.

"Ask Tavish," was the reply. "He'll tell you to a pound, sir."

"I tell you I want you to weigh it," cried Kenneth and Shon rose to his feet, to stand not much higher than he sat, and, taking the fish, he bore it into the place where he cut up and packed the haunches of venison. There the capture was hung upon one of the hooks of the steelyard.

"Now, Tavish, look," cried Kenneth triumphantly. "Five-and-twenty pounds if it's an ounce."

"Three-an'-twenty, and hardly that," said Tavish firmly. "Noo, Shon, what does she scale?"

"Twa-an'-twenty pun' an' three-quairters," said Long Shon.

"Oh!" exclaimed Kenneth, in a disappointed tone.

"An' ta finest fush o' the season, laddie," cried Tavish triumphantly. "And noo, if ye winna hae a drappie, go and tak' aff the wat claes, for too much watter is bad for a man, even if the watter's coot."



CHAPTER TWELVE.

A LESSON FROM MAX.

"Caught a twenty-two-pound salmon, eh?" said The Mackhai, looking up from a letter he was reading.

"He thinks he caught it, father," said Kenneth, laughing; and, as they stood waiting in the dining-room, the boy related the adventure of the day, and how they had, after changing, gone for a long tramp across the mountain slope, and chased the hares. "Well, be civil to him, Ken. Remember we are gentlemen. And even if he is the son of a miserable shark of a lawyer, let his father learn that the Mackhais can do good for evil."

Kenneth stared wonderingly in his father's face. "What does it all mean?" he thought, and he noted the lines of trouble and annoyance deepening as The Mackhai let his eye fall upon his letter once more.

"My father must hate his father," thought Kenneth; "and he is too much of a gentleman to show his dislike to his son. Why does he have him here, then? A stupid, girlish muff of a fellow! One's obliged to laugh at him, poor beggar!"

The Mackhai doubled up his letter angrily, and thrust it into his pocket.

"Did that boy hear the gong?" he said peevishly.

"I don't know, father. Shall I run up to his room?"

"No, certainly not. Treat him as you would any other visitor, but you are not his gillie. Ring, and send Grant."

The bell was touched: the butler entered directly.

"The young gentleman is not down yet, sir."

"Well, I know that," said his master sharply. "Go and tell him we are waiting dinner."

The butler, as he turned, looked as if he would like to give notice to leave on the spot, but he said nothing, and left the room.

"It is a gross want of courtesy!" muttered The Mackhai angrily. "Am I to be kept waiting by the son of a miserable pettifogging scoundrel of a London lawyer? The beginning of the end, Ken, I suppose!" he added bitterly.

"I don't know what you mean, father."

"Wait. You'll know quite soon enough, my boy. Too soon, I'm afraid, and then—"

The door was thrown open by the butler with a flourish, and he stood back holding it wide for Max to enter, looking very thin and scraggy, in a glossy new evening suit, with tight patent leather boots, handkerchief in one hand, new white gloves in the other.

The Mackhai's brow contracted, and Kenneth gave his left leg a kick with his right heel, so as to stop an inclination to laugh.

"I—I have—I have not kept you waiting?" faltered Max.

"Not very long," said The Mackhai coldly; "but we always sit down to meals directly the gong has sounded."

The butler left the room.

"I am very sorry," faltered Max; "but I got so wet for the second time to-day, that I thought I had better have a warm bath."

"Indeed!" said The Mackhai coldly. "Oh my, what a molly!" muttered Kenneth. "My father told me to be careful," continued Max.

"Pray follow out your father's advice," said The Mackhai, "and consider that you are quite at home here."

"How jolly sarcastic father is!" thought Kenneth.

"Thank you," said Max politely.

"While this place is mine, I wish my guests to be quite at their ease," continued The Mackhai; "but you will excuse me for saying that we never dress for dinner."

"No, I thought not," said Max confusedly; "but I made myself so wet, and my other suits were in the small portmanteau, and I've lost the key."

That dinner was hot, but very cold, and Max felt exceedingly glad when it was over. His host tried to be polite, and asked questions about the salmon-catching, but Max spoke in a hesitating way, and as if he thought he was being laughed at, and it was with a feeling of intense relief that he ceased to hear his host's voice, and escaped from the stony gaze of the butler, who, under an aspect of the most profound respect, seemed to glare at the visitor with a virulent look of hatred.

"They don't seem to like me at all down here," thought Max, as they rose from the table.

"I wonder what's the matter," thought Kenneth. "I never saw father seem so severe before."

Just then, looking very stern and out of temper, The Mackhai left the room, and Kenneth, after a moment's hesitation, went after him; but changed his mind directly, and returned to Max.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "Father does not seem to be well."

"I am sorry. I'm afraid he was put out because I kept you waiting."

"Oh, never mind that. I say, we can't go out with you like that, and it's such a jolly night. I don't know, though, if you put on an ulster."

"I think I would rather not go out any more tonight," said Max, hesitating.

"All right. Then we'll go and have a game at billiards. Come along."

This was more to Max's taste, and, after Grant had been summoned to help light the lamps, Kenneth shut the door, chuckling to himself about the big beating he was going to give the Londoner, who, instead of taking a cue, was gazing round the handsome billiard-room at the crossed claymores, targes, and heads of red deer, whose antlers formed rests for spears and specimens of weapons from all parts of the world.

"Are those swords sharp?" asked Max.

"Sharp? Yes, I should think they are. They're the claymores my ancestors used to handle to cut off the heads of the Macleods and Macdougals."

"Used there to be much fighting then?"

"Fighting? I should think there was. Every chief lived in a castle and had a galley, and they used to fill them half full of pipers and half full of fighting men, and go to war with their neighbours."

"It must have been very terrible."

"Not a bit of it. Very jolly—much better than living in these tame times. Come along; you break."

Max played first, and handled his cue so easily that Kenneth stared.

"Hallo!" he said, "you've played before."

"Yes; we have a billiard-table at home."

"Oh!" ejaculated Kenneth, and the big beating did not seem so near. Not that it proved to be more distant, only it was the other way on, for Max played quietly and respectably, keeping up a steady scoring, while Kenneth's idea seemed to be that the best way was to hit the balls hard, so that they might chance to go somewhere.

This they did, but not so as to add to his score, and the consequence was that, when Max marked a hundred, Kenneth was only thirty-three.

"Oh, I say!" he exclaimed, "I didn't know you could play like that."

"I often have a game with my father," said Max. "He always gives me fifty out of a hundred, and he can beat me, but he lets me win sometimes."

Kenneth whistled.

"I say," he said, "your father must be a very clever man."

"Yes," said Max, in a dull, quiet way, "I think he is very clever."

"You don't seem very much pleased about it."

"I'm afraid I'm very tired. It has been such a hard day."

"Hard! that's nothing. You wait till your legs get trained, you won't think this a hard day."

"I'm afraid I shan't be down here long enough for that."

"Oh, you don't know. Let's have another game, and see if I can't beat you this time. Only, mind, none of your father's tricks."

Max started and turned scarlet.

"I mean, you will try."

"Of course," said Max; "I don't think it would be fair not to try one's best."

They played, and Kenneth came off worse.

They played again, and he was worse still; while, after the fourth game, he threw down his cue pettishly.

"It's of no use for me to play you. Why, you're a regular out-and-outer."

"Nonsense! These strokes are easy enough. Let me show you. Look at the things you can do that I can't."

"You show me how to make those strokes, and I'll show you everything I know."

"I'll show you without making you promise that," said Max good-humouredly; and the rest of the evening was spent over the board, which they only quitted to say "good-night" and retire to their rooms; but Kenneth did not go to his until he had been to the butler's pantry, and then to the kitchen, which was empty, the servants having retired for the night, after banking up the fire with peat, which would go on smouldering and glowing for the rest of the night, and only want stirring in the morning to burst into a blaze.

There was something very suspicious in Kenneth's movements as he crossed the kitchen in the faint glow, and a great tom-cat glowered at him as he stole away to the fireside and watched.

At one moment it seemed as if Kenneth was going to the larder to make a raid upon the provisions, but he stopped short of that door, and stood listening, and started violently as a sudden sound smote his ear.

It was the start of one troubled with a guilty conscience, for the sound was only a sharp tack made by the great clock, preliminary to its striking eleven.

"How stupid!" muttered Kenneth; and then he started again, for he heard a door close rather loudly.

"Father!" he muttered, and he ran to the entry and listened again, before going cautiously to the fire, where he suddenly made two or three snatches of a very suspicious character, and hurried out of the kitchen along a stone passage. Then all was silent about the place, save the lapping and splashing of the water among the rocks outside.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

AN UNCOMFORTABLE BREAKFAST.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The banging of a door and footsteps were heard.

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

No Kenneth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kenneth at last!

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

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

"Perhaps he doesn't like my father," thought Max sadly. "Perhaps—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Open the door."

"Yes; I'm coming!"

Max opened the door, and Kenneth rushed in.

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

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

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

"But I meant to come."

"Well, don't talk, old chap. Look sharp, and dress."

"Yes; but are you going to stay?"

"Of course, to help you."

Max felt disposed to rebel, and thought it objectionable.

Kenneth saw his looks, and spoke out.

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

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

In a few minutes Max's bell rang.

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

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

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

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

Then Max's door opened.

"Ready?" cried Kenneth.

"No. I'm very sorry, but I've rung three times, and no one has come."

"P'r'aps Grant is busy with father. What do you want—hot water?"

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

"Oh, is that all?" cried Kenneth. "I'll run and fetch them."

"Oh, thank you!"

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

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

"No," said Kenneth. "Are you sure you sent them down? Grant says he hasn't seen them."

"I gave them to one of the maids."

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

"But I've lost the key of my portmanteau, and I can't put on black this morning."

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

"I haven't any."

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

"Yes. Shall I put on my dress things?"

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

"Oh, if you would!" cried Max.

"All right!"

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

"Here you are!" he cried. "Slip on those socks."

"But I've got socks."

"But they won't do. On with these."

"But—"

"On with them. The gong will go directly."

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

"Oh," he exclaimed, "I couldn't put on that!"

"But you must. You haven't a moment to spare; and it's my best one."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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