The lad opened his large mouth, tucked in the last piece of marmalade, and then leaped off the stone on to the rock.
“Scood!”
The boy stroked down his grey kilt, and looked up.
“Put on your shoes and stockings.”
“What for?”
“Because I tell you. Because there’s company coming. Be off!”
“She’s got a big hole in her stocking, and ta shoe hurts her heel.”
“Be off and put them on,” roared Kenneth from the window. “I shall be ready in a quarter of an hour.”
Scood nodded, and began to climb rapidly over the buttress of rock which ran down into the sea, the height to which the tide rose being marked by an encrustation of myriads of acorn barnacles, among which every now and then a limpet stood out like a boss, while below, in the clear water, a thick growth of weed turned the rock to a golden brown, and changed the tint of the transparent water.