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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Max tried again.

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

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

"I couldn't," sighed Max.

"Try."

Max threw once more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes; that's a splendid stand."

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

"But it looks so dangerous," pleaded Max.

"Nonsense!"

"But suppose I fell in?"

"Then Tavvy would fish you out with the gaff. Now don't be a coward.

Go out there, and try and throw your fly just over that big rock close in-sh.o.r.e. See where I mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whish went the line again.

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

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

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

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

"Now, another, Max. Go on."

"Noo anither, she says to the puir f.e.c.kless laddie."

Whizz!

Max made a desperate throw, and, to his own wonderment, the line, with the fly at the end, pa.s.sed right over the great block of stone lying close to the sh.o.r.e.

"Is that right?" said Max.