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

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

"How do you feel now?" said Kenneth.

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

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

"I—I don't think I shall," said Max, as he made a very poor breakfast.

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

Max shook his head.

"Never mind. Have some of this kipper, it's—"

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

"What's the matter?" cried The Mackhai.

"Nothing, sir;—I—that is—that dog—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh!" cried Max, making a rush, as he felt the touch of the dog's cold nose.

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

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

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

"That dog took hold of my leg."

"What, Sneeshing?"

"No, no. The one you call Dirk."

"He must have thought it was a sheep's leg."

"Kenneth!"

"Yes, father?"

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

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

"The dog's play," said The Mackhai quietly. "I don't think he would bite."

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

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



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

MACRIMMON'S LAMENT.

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

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

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

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

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

"Pick a pocket, sir!" cried Grant indignantly, for he had not fully caught Max's question.

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

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

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

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

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

"You are both laughing at me," said Max sadly.

"No, no, nonsense! There, come on out."

"Like this?"

"Of course. It's no worse for you than it is for me. Come along."

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

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

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

"Tonald—"

"Well, what about Donald?"

"She's chust waitin' for the young chentleman."

"Where?"

"In ta castle yaird."

"What does he want?" said Kenneth seriously. "Here, Max, let's go and see."

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

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

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

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

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

"What does he want, Kenneth?"

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

"But—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"'Macrimmon's Lament.'"

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

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

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

And those were such stairs!

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

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

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

"Oh, thank you!"

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

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

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

"She forgot to say tat she composed ta mairch in honour of the Chief hersel'."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ta Dirge o' Dunloch."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, no, Scood, I won't run!" cried Kenneth. "You run, Max. Get down with you."

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

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

"Oh!" cried Max in horror.

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

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

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

"Ah!" shouted old Donald.

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

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

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

"She'll preak her heart," groaned the old piper.

"Shall she let her go, then?" cried Scoodrach.

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

"Don't cut, Scood," cried Kenneth.

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

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

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

"Yes."

"Down wi' ye, then. He canna catch us there. Noo, Tonald, catch."

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

"Tonal'!" shouted Scoodrach; and he added something in Gaelic.

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

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

"Nivver mind him, laddie. Come up here and I'll play ye Macrimmon owre again."

"No, no!" exclaimed Max earnestly.

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



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

BIRD-NESTING UNDER DIFFICULTIES.

"What shall we do?" said Kenneth.

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

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

"I didn't. It's only his way. Here, what shall we do—fish?"

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

"Well, let's go and have a shot at something."

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

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

"Where would you go if we sailed?"

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

Max nodded.

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

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

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

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

"You think so?"

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

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

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

"Oh, he said you had better, did he?"

Max nodded.

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

Kenneth laughed.

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

"Oh, I wouldn't do that!" cried Max. "It isn't likely."

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

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

"Yes. Got any cartridges?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Hallo!" he said; "soon tired of looking Scotch."

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

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

"Wonder where they were?" said Kenneth dryly.

"I suppose the butler found them," said Max innocently.

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

"Loaded?"

"No, not yet."

"Then don't you load till I tell you. I'll give you plenty of time. Come along."

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

"Yes, Shon, and we don't want you in the boat."

Long Shon grunted, and followed close behind.

"She could go instead of Scood."

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

"She could show you an eagle's nest up the firth."

"So can Scood. He knows where it is!"

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

"She knows where there's a raven's nest."

"That's what Scood told me this morning, Long Shon."

"But she tidn't know where there's a nest o' young blue hawks."

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

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

"No!" said Scood undutifully.

"Petter tak' me, Maister Ken, and she can teach the young chentleman how to hantle his gun."

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

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

Sneeshing whined and made a snap at the water.

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

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

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

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

"It isn't fair. You're letting him go."

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

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

"Will you come out, sir?"

Dirk howled again.

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

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

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

"How-ow!"

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

"You'd better learn to mind, sir, or—"

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

"Mind what you're doing, Scood," cried Long Shon. "Ta wint's going to change."

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

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

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

"No! No! No!" cried Max excitedly; "and pray don't go into any dangerous places."

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

Scood grinned, and Kenneth said laughingly,—

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

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

"Tak' care, Maister Ken. Ta wint's going to change."

"All right."

"You, Scood, mind you ton't mak' fast ta sheet."

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

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

He jumped up suddenly, and shouted back,—

"Hi, Shon!"

"Ay, ay!"

"Pray take care of yourself."

"You tak' care o' yoursel', Maister Ken, and never mind me."

"Mind you don't catch cold."

"Eh?"

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

"What ye mean, Maister Ken?"

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

"What ye talking aboot, sir?"

"Do be careful, Shon; there's a good man."

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

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

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

"She ton't know what you mean."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Scood.

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

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

"No, she isna an auld woman. My father's a ferry coot man."

"No, he isn't; he's a regular silly old cow."

"My father's a man, and a coot man, and a coot prave man, and never wass an auld woman."

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

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

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

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

"Ha, ha!" laughed Kenneth.

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

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

"Shall she tak' the tiller?" said Scood.

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

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

"Whee-ugh, whee-ugh!" cried a bird.

"Look, Max, there he goes out of shot."

"What is it?"

"A whaup."

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

"Now then, catch hold."

"I'm afraid I don't know how to steer," said Max nervously.

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

"But I don't know how."

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

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

"Hear that, Max?" cried Kenneth, laughing. "Scood's our philosopher now, you know."

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

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

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

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

"You scared it away," said Kenneth.

"Oh, I am sorry!"

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

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

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

"Heron. Can't you see his beak?"

"Yes, and long neck. What a long thin tail!"

Scood chuckled.

"What's he laughing at?"

"You mind what you're doing; you'll have the boat over. Keep the tiller as I showed you."

Max hastily complied.

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

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

"What are those?"

"Pies."

"Pies?"

"Yes; not puddings."

"I mean magpies?"

"No; sea pies—oyster-catchers."

"Do they catch oysters?"

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

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

"Waste of a shot," he said, reloading.

"What were those?"

"Sheldrakes. How shy they are, Scood!"

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

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

"Yes; there are lots about," said Kenneth coolly. "There's another yonder."

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

"What castle is that?"

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

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

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

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

"Yes; peregrine falcon, the books call it. There's a nest yonder where we're going."

"Where?"

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

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

"Are we going there?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are there any other wild things about?"

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

"Yes," cried Max. "I can see that quite plainly."

"Tah!" ejaculated Scood scornfully; "it's a coo."

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

"Nae."

"Then hold your tongue."

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

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

"No," cried Kenneth; "they're bulls."

"They're not. Ton't you belief him. She can see quite plain. They're teer."

"If they were deer they'd bolt," cried Kenneth, shading his eyes; "they wouldn't stop there."

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

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

"Been shot at somewhere else."

"Hadn't we better go back and get the rifles?"

"Noo? No; let's come to-morrow airly, and have a coot fair try."

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

"But may you shoot stags?" said Max rather wonderingly.

"Of course, when they are on my father's part of the forest. That's his out there."

"Forest? Where?" asked Max wonderingly.

"Why, there."

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

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

"Hold your tongue, Scood, or I'll pitch you overboard."

"She's always talking spout pitching her overpoard, but she never does," muttered Scood.

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

"How is it that it does not now?"

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

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

"I say, we'll come out here fishing one day. Like fishing for mackerel?"

"I never did fish for them."

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

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

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

"What at?"

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

"Yes. What are they—blackbirds?"

"Black enough. Cormorants drying their plumage."

"But it hasn't been raining."

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

"Go on, if you like telling travellers' tales," said Max, smiling.

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

"Look out! there she goes," cried Scoodrach.

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

"That's the hen bird, Scood."

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

"Where?"

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

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

"No."

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

"No."

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

"Yes, I see that."

"Well, down a little way to the left, there's a—Oh, look at that!"

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

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

Scood was silent.

"Do you hear, stupid?"

"Ou ay, she can hear, Maister Ken."

"Well, how are we to get them?"

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

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

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

"Oh yes, we could, Scood."

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

"Oh, we shouldn't tumble. You could climb that, couldn't you, Max?"

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

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

"She couldna do it."

"You're afraid, Scoody."

"Na, she isna feared, but she couldna do it."

"Well, I shall try."

"No, don't; pray, don't! It looks so dangerous."

"Nonsense!"

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

"No, you couldn't, stupid; it hangs over."

"An' we could tak' a rope."

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

"Which will be best—forward or backward?"

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

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

"Think that'll be strong enough, Scoody?"

"Na."

"Then why are you casting it loose?"

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

"That'll hold her," he said. "Unto the ither."

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

"She'll holt twa laddies hanging on at aince," said Scoodrach. "Na, na, ton't to that."

"Why not?"

"Because she'll want ta crapnel."

"Scood, you're an old wonder!" cried Kenneth; "but you'll have to carry it."

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

"She's retty," he said.

"All right. Come on, Max, and we'll send you down first."

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

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

Scood laughed.

"You're bantering me again," said Max, after a few moments.

"Ah, well, you'll see. Stop back if you're afraid."

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

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

"Yes," said Max, perspiring freely. "Isn't there a better path than this?"

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

"Ou ay, there's a teal o' peautiful watter comes town here sometimes," said Scood.

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

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

"Don't you get as hot as I am with climbing?"

"I should think not, indeed. Why, Scood and I could almost run up here. Couldn't we, Scood?"

"Ou ay; she could run up and run town too."

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

"I—I did not know it was so wet."

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

"I'm so uncomfortably wet, thank you," replied Max, "I don't think I'll sit down."

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

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

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

"Don't walk quite so near," he said nervously.

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

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

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

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

"Tut it looks so dreadful."

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

"Na. It's just ahint that big stane where we shall gae doon."

"No, no; it's about here," said Kenneth; and, going to the edge, he looked over.

Scoodrach chuckled.

"Can ye see ta nest, Maister Ken?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't think I'll come, thank you," said Max.

"Nonsense! Do be a little more plucky."

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

"Well," cried Kenneth, "come along! There's no danger."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You'll soon get used to the cliffs," said Kenneth. "I say, look, Scoody!"

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

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

"Isn't it cruel to take their nest, supposing you can get it?" said Max.

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

"No," said Max.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I? Oh no!"

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

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

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

"Oh, Kenneth!"

"Fact I'm the only boy he has got."

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

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

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

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

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

"Ye'll joost putt 'em in ta ponnet," he said.

"No, no, that won't do; they'd fall out."

Scood scratched his curly red head.

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

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

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

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

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

"Ask him if he'd like to come down and see."

"No, no!" cried Max huskily; "I'd rather not."

"She says she shall not come," cried Scoodrach.

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

A BRAVE ATTEMPT.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then you are both safe?" cried Max joyfully.

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

"Cut the rope? No, I didn't touch it. Why did it break?"

"I say, Scoody, why did the rope break?"

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

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

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

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

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

Scoodrach shook his head.

"Well, then, can we get down?"

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

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

"What?"

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

"Oh!" ejaculated Max, with a shudder.

"Well, are you coming?"

"No! Impossible! What for?"

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

"Oh, Kenneth," cried Max, "you're making fun again. What shall we do?"

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

"Oh, pray be serious!"

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

"Na! Oh, what a ding she gave her airm!"

"Bother your arm!" cried Kenneth. "Here, Max, what's to be done?"

"I'll run back and tell them at Dunroe."

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

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

"I forgot the loch," he said. "What shall I do? Where's the nearest house?"

"Across the loch."

"Are there none this side?"

"There's a keeper's lodge ten miles away, on the other side of the mountain."

"I'll run all the way there!" cried Max eagerly. "Tell me the way."

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

"You're laughing at me again," cried Max in agony; "and I want to help you."

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

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

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

"Na; she'd lose hersel'," cried Scoodrach. "Oh, what a ding she did give—"

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

"Then what shall I do?"

"Well, there's only one thing you can do."

"Yes? quick, tell me!"

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

"But I couldn't manage her."

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

Max was silent.

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

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

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

"But, as Mrs Glasse said in her cookery-book, 'First catch your hare.'"

"Why, you don't mean to say you couldn't shoot a hare?" cried Kenneth.

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

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

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

"To tack what—the sail?"

"No, no, I don't mean nail the sail to the mast."

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

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

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

"Good-bye!" cried Max. "I'll get back as soon as I can."

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

"Yes; I won't forget."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Max! Ahoy!"

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

"Starboard! starboard! Going wrong."

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

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

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



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

A TERRIBLE JOURNEY.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

HOW MAX FETCHED HELP.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From Max Blande's cowardice?

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

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

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

"Wha's ta young maister?" cried Tavish fiercely.

"Wha's Scood?" cried Long Shon.

Max hurriedly explained.

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

"Why, ta poat's full o' watter!" cried Long Shon.

"Yes; she is leaking and sinking fast."

"Ma cootness!" cried Tavish, getting in, to Max's horror.

"Don't! you'll sink her. Let me get out."

"Na, na. Why tidn't you bale ta watter oot?"

"I did, but it was no use."

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

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

"No, no; it came on all of a sudden."

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

"She shouldna pull oot ta cork."

"No," said Long Shon. "She pulls oot ta cork to let ta watter oot. She's pulled oot ta cork to let ta watter in."

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

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

"Then she must ha' come out hersel'," said Tavish. "Ye'll know next time what to do."

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

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

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

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

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

"Na; she'll go ant fetch 'em. So ta crapnel line proke?"

"Yes."

"She must ha' peen ferry pad."

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

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

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

"Wha's ta Chief?" said Long Shon, as they came alongside.

"Gane over ta hill."

"With his gun?"

"Na; reading a pit latter."

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

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

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

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

"There are no lochs in London," replied Max, smiling.

"Nae lochs!" exclaimed the two Highlanders in a breath.

"No."

"Why, she thought Lonton wass a ferry fine place."

"So it is; full of great streets and shops."

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

"No."

"I ton't think she shall think much coot o' Lonton, Tavish," said Long Shon rather scornfully.

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

"No, never. I was never in a boat alone before."

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

Long Shon looked as if he did not believe it.

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

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

"I was holding the anchor," replied Max.

"She wass holting ta anchor, Shon. She tolt her pefore."

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

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

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

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

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

"Waugh!" growled Tavish more loudly and deeply than before.

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

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

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

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

"No, of course not," said Max confusedly, for he could hardly follow the great fellow's meaning.

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

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

"I see them! Look! Kenneth is waving his cap."

"Na; it shall pe ta Scoodrach wi' her ponnet."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"She shouldna troost to a pit o' line like that."

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

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

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

"You are going to fasten the line to the anchor, aren't you?" said Max.

"Na," growled Tavish. "She sail come up wi'out ta grapnel."

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

"But you cannot bear him alone?"

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

"Retty?" he cried.

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

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

"She prought 'em up herself."

"No, I didn't. I left them for you to bring."

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

"I believe you went to sleep. I've a jolly good mind to pitch you overboard."

"She's always saying she'll pitch her overpoard."

"There, come along down," said Long Shon.

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

"She isna going town gain," remonstrated the great Highlander.

"Oh yes, she is."

"No, no, pray don't venture again!" whispered Max.

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

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

Then the movement ceased, and Max exclaimed excitedly,—

"Is he down safely?"

"Ou ay! she's all right," replied Tavish, as he gazed calmly down. "Come and look."

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

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

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

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

"Oh, if I'd been up there!" shouted Kenneth from below. "What a chance for a shot!"

"Retty, Maister Ken?"

"Yes; haul away."

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

"She could choost pull her up wi' ane han'," said Long Shon scornfully.

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

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

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

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

"Na, na," cried Tavish, "ta cork plug. She sailt in wi' ta watter nearly up to her knees."

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