“So they are,” cried Scood. “They’re not so long, put they’re much pigger rount than the Chief’s.”
“Bother! Hear him bragging about his father’s old legs, Max! Here, you come and take a lesson in steering,” said Kenneth, making fast the sheet, an act which made Scoodrach growl a little. “I can’t steer and shoot.”
“Shall she tak’ the tiller?” said Scood.
“No; you stop forward there, and trim the boat. Well, Sneeshing, can you see anything?”
The dog was standing on the thwart forward, resting his paws on the gunwale, and watching the flight of the gulls. At the sound of his master’s voice, he uttered a low bark.
“Whee-ugh, whee-ugh!” cried a bird.
“Look, Max, there he goes out of shot.”
“What is it?”
“A whaup.”
Max followed the flight of the bird eagerly as it flew off toward the shore of a long, low green island on their left.