“Tah!” ejaculated Scood scornfully; “it’s a coo.”
“You, Scood, do you want me to pitch you overboard?” cried Kenneth.
“Nae.”
“Then hold your tongue.”
“Ou ay, Maister Kenneth, only ton’t tell the young chentleman lies. Look, Maister Max, there’s the teer, four, five, sax of them, over yon. See?”
“Yes, I can see them; but are they really deer?”
“No,” cried Kenneth; “they’re bulls.”
“They’re not. Ton’t you belief him. She can see quite plain. They’re teer.”
“If they were deer they’d bolt,” cried Kenneth, shading his eyes; “they wouldn’t stop there.”
“There they go,” cried Scood, as the graceful creatures trotted over the shoulder of a hill a mile or more away, all but one, which stood up against the sky, so that they could make out its great antlers.