“But I couldn’t manage her.”
“All right, then. Let’s all set to work and make our wills before we’re starved to death. No, I tell you what: you’ve got the gun; you’ll have to go shooting, and drop the birds over to us. You’re a good shot, aren’t you?”
Max was silent.
“Well, why don’t you speak? Look here, take the gun and shoot a hare. You’ll find one somewhere. Got any matches?”
“Yes, I have a little silver box of wax-lights.”
“That’s your sort! Then you can light a fire of heath and peat, and cook it, and drop it down, and we can eat it.”
“But, as Mrs Glasse said in her cookery-book, ‘First catch your hare.’”
“Why, you don’t mean to say you couldn’t shoot a hare?” cried Kenneth.
“She couldna shoot a hare,” grumbled Scoodrach, rubbing his arm; and then, after looking very thoughtful and nervous, Max spoke out.
“I am going down to the boat,” he said quietly; “and I shall try and set the sail, and go back to Dunroe.”