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

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

"Shust rest hersel' and smock her pipe."

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

"Hey! she'll come," said the forester, in a low voice which sounded like human thunder, and, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, he stuck the stem inside his sock beside the handle of a little knife, but started slightly, for the bowl burnt his leg, and he s.n.a.t.c.hed it out and thrust it in the goatskin pocket that hung from his waistband.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Never mind, come along. Here, Scood, get two rods and the basket.

You'll find the fly-book and the gaff on the shelf."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER EIGHT.

IN THE OLD TOWER.

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

"Who is old Donald--is he a chief?"

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

"Oh!"

"This way."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Did he give you plenty?"

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

"But, I say--"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scoodrach went off scowling, and Kenneth scratched his head.

"He's a rum fellow, isn't he? Never mind; n.o.body saw him; only he mustn't do it again. Why, I believe if father saw him getting in at the window, he'd pepper him. Here, this way."

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