Scood sprang to his feet, and a flash of wild delight darted from his wet red eyes. Then, as if recollecting himself, he dashed his hand across them and gave it a slap against his side, scowling heavily.

"On'y ta watter rin doon oot o' her hair," he said surlily. "Ta young Chief's not trooned?"

"No, no, Scood; he's--"

Max stared, for Scoodrach had turned his back, begun to whistle, and walked away.

"He was ashamed to let me see him crying," thought Max. "I'm not the only coward in the world."

He stood for a few moments gazing after Scoodrach, and then walked quickly back, to find Kenneth sitting up.

"She's a teal petter the noo," cried Tavish triumphantly. "There, laddie; ye'll get up, and we'll chust gang hame."

"Yes; I'm not much hurt, Max," said Kenneth, with a ghastly attempt at a laugh. "I say, old chap, you couldn't do that. Here, give us your hand."

Max eagerly tried to help him rise, and Kenneth made a brave effort to get upon his legs, but he s.n.a.t.c.hed at the forester's arm, with his face contracting and turning ghastly pale, as his eyes looked dim and then half closed.

They gently laid him down, and bathed his forehead with water.

"Chust a wee bit dizzy, puir laddie," said Tavish tenderly. "Bide a wee, Long Shon, till he opes his een acain, and then ye shall put him on my pack, and I'll carry him doon to the sh.o.r.e, and we'll mak' Scood rin on and ket the poat and twa pillows, and ket him richt across to the rock."

"Ay," said Long Shon approvingly. "But she must hae a teal o' watter in her; shall she rin it oot the noo?"

"Na, na!" cried Tavish, in a low, fierce growl. "Hey, Scoody!"

"Well?" came from close by, and the young gillie showed himself, with his face half averted.

"Rin, bairn, and get ta little poat an' row her to ta mooth o' ta stream," cried Long Shon.

"Ay," cried Scoodrach, turning eagerly to run.

"An', Scoody, my laddie," cried Tavish, "ye'll chust ask Maister Crant to fling twa pillows in ta poat."

"Yes."

"And, Scoody, ye'll chust say that the young Chief is a' richt the noo, but that we're a' wat wi' sweet watter, and if she thinks a wee drappie o' whusky would pe good for ta young Chief and the rest, she can pit it in ta poat."

Scoodrach nodded, and ran off rapidly over the rugged ground, bounding across the stones like a goat, and Kenneth now tried to rise.

"Ye'll pe a pit petter the noo, Maister Kenneth," said Tavish tenderly.

"She's chust sent for ta poat, and she'll kneel doon, and Long Shon will help ye to get upo' her back, ant she'll carry ye chently doon to ta mooth o' ta stream."

"Oh no, Tavvy; I can walk."

"Nay, laddie, ye canna walk. It winna pe ta first time she's carriet ye on her pack. Noo, Long Shon, chust gie ta young Chief a lift, and-- that's ta way. Did she hurt ye?"

"Not--very much," said Kenneth, with a shudder of pain. "Thank ye, Tav, old chap. There, I'm like a little boy again; but it's too bad to let you carry me."

"Haud yer wheesht, Maister Ken--haud yer wheesht!" cried the big forester angrily. "What would she pe for if it wasna to help ta young Chief o' ta Mackhai? Why, Long Shon here and she would lie doon for ye to walk upo' us if it would do ye good."

"Ay!" cried Long Shon.

"Noo then, slow and steady. Come along, Maister Max; and we'll be doon to the sands before Scoodrach can get across ta bay."

The great fellow walked slowly and carefully down the gully; but, before they had gone far, Kenneth's head dropped, and they laid him down again, to revive him after a few minutes by bathing his face on the brink of the rushing stream, after which Tavish raised him as tenderly as if he had been a baby, and bore him in his arms.

They reached the sh.o.r.e at last, after a very slow progress, to find Scoodrach approaching fast, and tugging at the oars with all his might.

"Is ta Mackhai at hame?" cried Long Shon, as the boy came within hail.

"Na," shouted Scoodrach, without turning his head, and toiling away till he was close in, when he reversed the boat, and backed in till she grounded on the sand.

The pillows were there, so was the whisky, but no one touched it.

Kenneth was laid carefully in the stern, and Max supported him, Scoodrach scowling angrily at being sent into the bows; while the two men made the water surge beneath the keel till they reached the rock, where, once more taking the injured lad in his arms as if he were a babe, Tavish carried him up the rock, and then right up to his bedroom, where he stopped and tended him as carefully as a trained nurse.

"I've been a' ower him, Maister Crant, and ye may rest easy till ta Mackhai comes pack. If she likes to sent for ta toctor, weel, let her sent; pit there's naething wrang wi' the laddie, nae banes brukkit, and naething wrang inside. She has gien her heit a gran' ding or twa, and she's verra sair, and she's been maist trooned. I've seen to manny a worse hurt than hers, so let the bairn go to sleep, and we'll see her when she wacks."

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

AN ANXIOUS TIME.

The Mackhai did not return home till the next morning, and his first inquiry was why had not a doctor been fetched.

He nodded with satisfaction at the answer he received.

Tavish and Grant had sat up all night with their young master, and Max had been to them at least a dozen times, for a consultation to be held at daybreak, and for Tavish to agree that something must be done.

The result had been that he and Long Shon had taken the boat before sunrise, and gone off to Port Staffey, where Grant knew a medical man to be staying for a holiday, and to fish.

For poor Kenneth was quite delirious, and about midday, after going out on the terrace to scan the offing eagerly for signs of the boat, The Mackhai went back into the house, and up to his son's room, to hear the injured lad talking at random, and a hoa.r.s.e sob escaped from the father's lips.

"My poor boy!" he groaned; "and am I to lose you? Well, better so, perhaps--better than to live a beggar, ready to curse your weak father for the ruin he has brought--Hah! how came you here?"

His voice had changed from a soft, appealing tone to one full of angry annoyance, as he saw Max slowly rise up from the other side of the bed, where he had been seated, hidden by the curtain.

"I came to sit with poor Kenneth, sir. I beg your pardon. I'll go now."

"If you please," said The Mackhai coldly, and there was a bitterly fierce look of dislike in his eyes, as he crossed toward the door and threw it open for Max to pa.s.s out; but the next moment he had closed it hastily, and he held out his hand.

Max looked at him wonderingly.

"I beg your pardon, Mr Blande," said The Mackhai, in a low voice, full of courteous apology. "I am in trouble, and hardly know what I have been saying."

He pointed as he spoke toward the bed, and then his countenance worked, and he wrung the boy's hand warmly, as Max caught his, and whispered in broken tones,--

"Oh, sir, you don't think he is so very bad?"