“I was wishing that it was mine—all my own, so that I could come and sit here and think.”
“Well, you may come here and sit and think, but it never will be yours. It has always belonged to the Mackhais ever since they conquered the Mackalps, and took it with claymore and targe. There was a tremendous fight up above there, and, as my ancestors cut down the Mackalps, they threw them into the stream at the top, and there they were shot out over the fall, and carried right out to sea.”
“How horrible!”
“Horrible? Why, it was all considered very brave and grand, and we are very proud of it. There’s a sword down at the castle that they say was used in the great fight.”
“And are you proud of it?”
“I don’t know. I suppose so. Does seem queer, though, to chop chaps with swords and pitch ’em into the water. Rather an awkward place to come down, wouldn’t it, Max?”
“Awful!”
“Well, never mind talking about it. Come up and see.”
“What! climb up there?”
“To be sure. Oh, you needn’t be afraid. It’s quite safe. You go up that narrow path, and get round in among those birch trees, and that brings you out by the top.”