"Must I--must I get down?--that small boat!"

Kenneth stared at the pallid-looking youth, who stood shrinking back, almost in wonder, as the visitor clung to the gangway rail, and gazed in horror at the boat dancing in the foaming water.

"Ketch hold."

"All right."

There was the rapid pa.s.sing down of luggage--portmanteau, hat-box, bag, gun-case, sheaf of fishing-rods, and bale of wrappers; and, as Scood secured these, Kenneth held out his hand.

"Come along," he said. "It's all right."

"But--"

"Look sharp, sir, please; we can't stop all day."

Evidently in an agony of dread and shame, the stranger stepped down into the boat, staggered, clung to Kenneth, and, as he was forced down to a seat, clung to it with all his might. Scood cast off the rope; the captain on the bridge made his bell ting in the engine-room, a burst of foam came rushing from beneath the paddle-box, the little boat danced up and down, the great steamer glided rapidly on, and Kenneth and Scoodrach gazed in an amused way at the new occupant of the boat.

"We've been waiting for you--hours," said Kenneth at last. "How are you?"

"I'm quite well, thank--I mean, I'm not at all well, thank you," said the visitor, shaking hands limply, and then turning to look at Scood, as if wondering whether he should shake hands there.

"That's only Scood, my gillie," said Kenneth hastily. "Did we get all your luggage?"

"I--I don't know," said the visitor in a helpless way. "I hope so. At least, I don't mind. It has been such a rough pa.s.sage!"

"Rough?" shouted Kenneth.

"Yes; terribly. The steamer went up and down so. I felt very ill."

"Been beautiful here. Now, Scood, don't sit staring there. Shove some of those things forward and some aft."

Scood jumped up, the boat gave a lurch, and the visitor uttered a gasp.

"Mind!" he cried.

"Oh, he's all right," said Kenneth bluffly. "When he has no shoes on he can hold by his toes. Come and sit aft."

"No, thank you; I would rather not move. I did not know it would be so rough at sea, or I would have come by train."

"Train! You couldn't come to Dunroe by train."

"Couldn't I?"

"No."

"Oh!--Are you Mr Kenneth Mackhai?"

"I'm Kenneth Mackhai," said the lad rather stiffly. "My father asked me to come and meet you--and, er--we're very glad to see you."

"Thank you. It was very kind of you; but I am not used to the sea, and I should have preferred landing at the pier and coming on in a cab or a fly."

"Pier! There's no pier near us."

"No pier? But never mind. You are very good. Would you mind setting me ash.o.r.e now?"

"Ash.o.r.e! What for?"

"To--to go on to the house. I would rather walk."

Kenneth laughed, and then checked himself.

"It's ten miles' sail from here home, and it would be twenty round by the mountain-road. We always go by boat."

"By boat? In this boat?" faltered the visitor.

"Yes. She skims along like a bird."

"Then--I couldn't--walk?"

"Walk? No. We'll soon run you home. Sorry it was so rough. But there's a lovely wind now. Come aft here, and we'll hoist the sail.

That's right, Scood. Now there's room to move."

"Could--could you call back the steamer?" said the stranger hoa.r.s.ely.

"Call her back? No; she's a mile away nearly. Look!"

The visitor gave a despairing stare at the steamer, and the wake of foam she had left behind.

"You will be all right directly," said Kenneth, suppressing his mirth.

"You're not used to the sea?"

"No."

"We are. There, give me your hand. You sit there aft and hold the tiller, while I help Scood run up the sails."

"Thank you, I'm much obliged. But if you could set me ash.o.r.e."

"It's three miles away," said Kenneth, glancing at the mainland.

"No, no; I mean there."

"There? That's only a rocky island with a few sheep on it. And there's such a wild race there, it's dangerous at this time of the tide."

"Are they savages?"

"Savages?"

"Yes; the wild race."