Then the bottom boards were replaced, and the forester passed an oar over the side, so as to paddle the boat up to the rock where Long Shon was waiting, with a ring of new-looking rope over his arm.
“Wha’s ta Chief?” said Long Shon, as they came alongside.
“Gane over ta hill.”
“With his gun?”
“Na; reading a pit latter.”
“Ta Mackhai gane walking with a pit latter!” said Long Shon. “What’s coming to ta man?”
Tavish shook his head, and looked serious. Then Long Shon stepped in, and the boat was thrust off.
“She’ll pe ferry ancry when she finds we’re gane,” said the forester slowly. “Put we must go and fetch ta young Chief.”
“Ant tit she ever sail a poat in the lochs in Lonton?” asked Long Shon, as the boat sped away rapidly, with the wind nearly dead astern.
“There are no lochs in London,” replied Max, smiling.