Three Boys Part 19

"Ta bag," he said confidentially, "she isn't a hundert years auld, but she's auld, and she was proke, and ta wint whustled when she plew, but she's chust mended, and to-morrow--ah, to-morrow!"

"Yes; we're going fishing," said Kenneth, who was enjoying Max's shrinking way.

"Chust going to fush," said the old man, who was gazing searchingly at Max. "And she likes ta music and ta pipes? She shall hear them then."

"Yes, get them mended, Donald; we want to hear them again."

"P'raps she could chust make enough music the noo."

Kenneth laughed as he saw Max's horror, for the old man began hastily to twist up the wax end with which he had been binding one of the cracked pipes; but he laid his hand on his shoulder.

"No, no; not this morning. Get them all right, Donald."

"Yes; she was ketting them all right," he muttered, and he began with trembling fingers to unfasten the waxed thread.

At a sign from his companion, Max hurriedly followed him to the doorway.

"We'll go up on the top another time," said Kenneth. "There's such a view, and you can walk nearly all round the tower, only you have to be careful, or over you go."

Max gave a horrified glance up the crumbling staircase, and then followed Kenneth, who began to descend with all the ease of one long accustomed to the dark place.

"Take care here!" he kept on saying, as they came to the awkward places, where Max felt as if he would give anything for a candle, but he mastered his timidity, and contrived to pa.s.s over the different gaps in the stairs safely.

"How does that old man manage?" he asked, as he drew breath freely at the bottom.

"Manage? Manage what?"

"Does he always stay there?"

"What! Old Donald? Why, he cuts up and down there as quickly as I can."

"Then he is not always there?"

"Not he. Too fond of a good peat fire. He lives and sleeps at Long Shon's. But come along."

He hurried Max out of the quadrangle and down toward the narrow neck of rock which was uncovered by the falling tide, and then along by a sandy path, which pa.s.sed two or three low whitewashed bothies, from whose chimneys rose a faint blue smoke, which emitted a pungent, peculiar odour.

Suddenly a thought occurred to Kenneth as they were pa.s.sing one of the cottages, where a brown-faced, square-looking woman in a white mutch sat picking a chicken, the feathers floating here and there, and a number of fowls pecking about coolly enough, and exhibiting not the slightest alarm at their late companion's fate.

"That's Mrs Long Shon, Max," whispered Kenneth hastily. "You go on along this path; keep close to the water, and I'll catch up to you directly."

"You will not be long?" said Max, with a helpless look.

"Long! no. Catch you directly. Go on. I just want to speak to the old woman."

Max went on, keeping, as advised, close to the waters of the little bay, till he could go no farther, for a rapid burn came down from the hills and emptied itself there into the sea.

"Hillo! ahoy!" came a voice from behind him, just as he was gazing helplessly about, and wondering whether, if he attempted to ford the burn, there would be any dangerous quicksands.

Max turned, to see Kenneth coming trotting along with a basket in his hand.

"Off with your shoes and socks, Max," cried Kenneth.

He set the example, and was half across before Max was ready.

"Tuck up your trousers," continued Kenneth, laughing. "Why don't you dress like I do? No trousers to tuck!"

Max obeyed to the letter, and followed into the stream, flinching and making faces and balancing, as he held a shoe in each hand.

"Why, what's the matter?" cried Kenneth.

"It's--very--chilly," said Max, hurrying on as fast as he could, but managing so badly that he put one foot in a deep place, and to save himself from falling the other followed, with the result that he came out on the other side with the bottoms of his trousers dripping wet.

CHAPTER NINE.

SALMON-FISHING.

"You are a fellow!" cried Kenneth, laughing. "Here, what are you going to do?"

"Return to the castle and change them," said Max, as he was about to retrace his steps.

"Nonsense! You mustn't mind a drop of water out here. We're going salmon-fishing. I daresay you'll get wetter than that. Come on."

"I'll put on my shoes and stockings first," said Max, taking out a pocket-handkerchief to use as a towel.

"Get out! Let the wind dry you. It's all sand and heather along here.

Come on."

Max sighed to himself, and limped after his guide, who stepped out boldly over the rough ground, hopping from stone to stone, running his feet well into patches of dry sand, which acted like old-fashioned pounce on ink, and from merry malice picking out places where the sand-thistles grew, all of which Max bore patiently for a few minutes, and then, after p.r.i.c.king one of his toes sharply, he stopped short.

"What now?" cried Kenneth, with suppressed mirth.

"Hadn't we better put on our shoes and stockings here?"

"What for?"

"We might meet somebody."

"Well, of course. Suppose we did?"

"It--it looks so indelicate," said Max hesitatingly.

"Oh, I say, don't!" cried Kenneth, roaring with laughter; "you make my sides ache again."

"Did I say something funny, then?"