“What does he want?” said Kenneth seriously. “Here, Max, let’s go and see.”
Max was not sorry to follow his young host into the shelter of the castle ruins, for there was a good deal of breeze off the sea; and, as soon as the three lads were in the shady quadrangle, old Donald Dhu came out of the ruined entry at the corner tower he affected.
As soon as the old man was well outside, he stood shading his dim eyes with one bony hand, bending forward and gazing at Max, looking him up and down in a way which was most embarrassing to the visitor, but which made the boys’ eyes sparkle with delight.
Max felt ready to run back to his room and lock himself in, but, to his relief, the old man did not burst into a fit of laughing, for a grave smile overspread his venerable face.
“She wass a prave poy,” he said, laying a claw-like hand upon Max’s shoulder, “and she shall wear ta kilt petter some day.”
Then, motioning to him mysteriously with his free hand, he beckoned him slowly toward the entry to the spiral staircase, and Max yielded, though he longed to escape.
“What does he want, Kenneth?”
“Got something to say to you, I suppose. Don’t be long, and we’ll have the boat ready for a sail.”
“But—”
“I say, don’t stop talking; it may make the old boy wild, and if you do—”