“Ou ay, she’ll carry her,” said the lad coolly; and, getting on board again, he lifted and shouldered the little anchor, so that one of the flukes hung over his shoulder and the coil of rope on his arm.
“She’s retty,” he said.
“All right. Come on, Max, and we’ll send you down first.”
“Send me down first?” said Max, looking wildly from one to the other.
“To be sure. You can’t fall; we’ll tie the rope round you and let you down, and then you can turn round gently and get roasted in the sun.”
Scood laughed.
“You’re bantering me again,” said Max, after a few moments.
“Ah, well, you’ll see. Stop back if you’re afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” said Max firmly, but his white face spoke to the contrary. All the same, though, he drew a long breath, and jumped out of the boat to follow Scoodrach, who took the lead, tramping sturdily over the rough rocks of what proved to be a very stiff climb, the greater part of it being right down in the stony bed of a tiny torrent, which came gurgling from stone to stone, now dancing in the sunshine, and now completely hidden beneath the débris of ruddy granite, of which a dyke ran down to the sea.
“Hard work for the boots, Max, isn’t it?” said Kenneth, laughing, as he came along behind, active as a goat, and with his gun on his shoulder.