“Then where are they gane the?”
“Why didn’t you bring your pipes and play? You’d have soon seen where they were.”
“Ay!” said Andrew seriously. “Chust a wee lilt o’ the pipes might pring the creatures oot o’ their holes. There was a man ance, Apollo they ca’d him, as played on the pipes, an’ a’ the bit beasties cam’ roond to listen; and she’ll pe thenking that a’ that time back the pipes would pe ferry safage like, and a mon like tat not aple to play like we play the noo.”
This was said so innocently and in such good faith that Steve could hardly keep his countenance.
“Chah! She’s ferry sorry she tidna pring the pipes. There was plenty room in ta poat.”
“But there’s no room out here for the noise,” cried Steve, laughing.
“Tid she hear tat?” said Andrew, turning his head to speak to Hamish. “She ca’d the music noise. Ah, laddie, ye’ll ken mair spout the music when ye’re a muckle bit more auld. It’s a ferry crant thing the music, and she’ll pe ferry sorry some tay that she crinned at the pipes.”
“R–r–r–r–ra!” growled Skene, leaping upward so as to place his paws on Steve’s shoulders; and then he barked loudly as he gazed at the ice-floe on their left.
“Keep that dog quiet, Steve,” said the captain; “he’ll scare the walrus.”
Andrew’s head went down with his chin upon his breast, and he gave Steve an exasperating, sly look as the lad tried to quiet the dog.