"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 e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns 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 gra.s.shopper 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed, 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.