“Waugh!” growled Tavish more loudly and deeply than before.
“Ta Scoodrach wass never pe afraid,” cried Long Shon, striking the gunwale of the boat again, and his face flushed with anger.
“Waugh!” roared Tavish; and the great forester’s beard seemed to bristle as he burst out into an angry speech in Gaelic, to which Long Shon kept on edging in a word or two in the same tongue, but only with the effect of making Tavish roar more loudly, till Long Shon seemed to give in, completely mastered by his big companion.
What was said was a mystery to Max, but it sounded to him as if the big forester was taking his part, and crushing down Long Shon till the latter gave in, when Tavish’s face cleared, and his eyes smiled at Max, as he said,—
“She shall not do like Maister Ken and Scoodrach, or ta poat could not come and say they are on the crag.”
“No, of course not,” said Max confusedly, for he could hardly follow the great fellow’s meaning.
Then, in comparative peace, the boat skimming rapidly over the smooth sea, they sped on, with Max wondering that the ride could be so different now that there was no danger, and he had the companionship of two strong men. But all the same he could not help feeling something like regret that he was no longer the crew and in full charge. He felt something like pride, too, in his exploit, and the day’s adventure had done more than he knew towards planting him in the high road to manhood.
The castles were passed in what seemed a wonderfully short time, and the great wall of cliff loomed up on their left, but they had a long way to sail before Max suddenly exclaimed,—
“I see them! Look! Kenneth is waving his cap.”
“Na; it shall pe ta Scoodrach wi’ her ponnet.”