"In future, Mac," I warned, "you'd better not attempt to get on friendly terms with these—insects; a bite from a centipede might kill you."
"I'll gie ye best about the insecks," he returned thoughtfully, applying a match to the pile, "bit ye'll admit," he added, after some moments' pause, "that it's maist ex-tra-ord'nar' tae see insecks o' sich onnaitural descripshun rinnin' aboot on the face o' the earth."
I fully concurred, much to his satisfaction, and just then Stewart arrived, perspiring under his watery load.
"Dae ye mean tae tell me," howled the new-comer, addressing no one in particular, "that ye hiv'na got the fire ken'l'd yet?"
"Ca' canny, Stewart, ca' canny," sternly admonished the guilty one. "There's been a narrow escape here, ma man, a verra narrow escape."
Stewart's ruddy face blanched slightly, then slowly regained its colour when the slain centipede was pointed out. "Ye've raelly had a providenshul escape, Mac," said he. "Noo, staun aside an' let me get on wi' the cookin'."
Our first breakfast in camp was an unqualified success; it was not a very elegant repast, certainly, but the traveller must learn to forego all luxuries and enjoy rough fare, and we had already served our apprenticeship in that direction. Stewart, however, had lost none of his art in matters culinary, and, as he himself averred, could cook "onything frae a muskittie tae an Injun," so we had every reason to be contented.
"If we wur only camped aside a second Gold Bottom!" sighed Mac, getting his pipe into working order.
"It's a bonnie countrie," mused his companion, "wi' a bonnie blue sky abune, an' what mair could a man want?"