Tavish uttered another low, menacing growl of a very leonine nature, and his eyes were flashing, but they softened into a smile as they encountered those of Max.
A little while after, with the two boys on high cheering them as they passed, the boat was run into the little nook and fastened, Tavish taking the ring of rope and leaping ashore, followed by Max and Long Shon, who got over the rough rocks and up the gully in a wonderful way, hopping on to stones and off again—stones which Tavish took in one of his great strides and with the greatest ease.
It was almost marvellous to Max to see the way in which the great forester made his way up the gully, so that he would have been at the top in half the time if he had not kept stopping to reach down his hand to the lad, who was at various places compelled to climb on all-fours.
“She’ll do muckle petter soon,” he said, smiling. “Ta legs sail ket harter. Hey, but it’s a sair pity she does not wear ta kilt!”
“She hasna got ta legs for ta kilt,” grumbled Long Shon, who was behind; and Max partly caught his words, and felt a curious sensation of annoyance at the disparaging remark.
Five minutes later they were on the top, when Tavish went straight to the spot where the little anchor was forced in between the rocks, picked up the broken rope, and threw it down again, before stepping to the edge of the cliff and bending over.
“She shouldna troost to a pit o’ line like that.”
“How did I know it was going to break?” shouted Kenneth. “It bore me right enough. It was old Scoody here who was so heavy.”
“Ta rope wasna fit to bear a dog,” grumbled Scoodrach. “Hech! she shall break ta rope wi’ Sneeshing.”
The dog, which had been ready to jump up and greet the new-comers, ran at this, and looked down, and barked at the speaker, as if disputing his remark.