“You’re laughing at me again,” cried Max in agony; “and I want to help you.”
“Well, I want you to help us, old chap, for we’re in a regular mess, and perhaps the hawks’ll come and pick our eyes out to feed the young ones.”
“There, now, you’re laughing at me again!” cried Max. “I can’t help being so ignorant of your ways.”
“Of course you can’t, Maxy. Well, look here, old chap, you can’t get over the mountain without some one to show you the way.”
“Na; she’d lose hersel’,” cried Scoodrach. “Oh, what a ding she did give—”
“Bother your old airm, Scoody! do be quiet. Look here, Max: now, seriously, unless a yacht comes by, there’s no chance of help, and just because we want a yacht to come by, there won’t be one for a week.”
“Then what shall I do?”
“Well, there’s only one thing you can do.”
“Yes? quick, tell me!”
“Go down to the boat and hoist the sail, and run back to Dunroe.”