“Gin ye touch the laddie, Long Shon, I’ll gie ye a ding atween the een as shall mak’ ye see stars for a month. D’ye think I dinna ken that it would kill the bairn at ance?”
“Na!” growled Long Shon; “I’ve seen ’em do it wi’ the trooned men after a wrack.”
“Ay, and I’ve seen ’em dee wi’ doing that same, Long Shon. D’ye think I dinna ken what I’m aboot?”
“Ay,” cried Long Shon stoutly, as Tavish kept on pressing Kenneth’s ribs with mighty force and letting them go.
“Ye’re glad enow to come and lat me doctor ye, though, man. Hing the puir laddie by his heels to lat the watter oot! Maun, ane wad think ye were aboot to haunle a stag, and cut her up to send to toon. Hah! see him the noo! see him the noo! Kenneth laddie—Kenneth, my bonnie chiel’! Light o’ my een, my bonnie young Chief! Hech! Hech! Hech for ta Mackhai! Look at her the noo!”
Tavish had sprung up, uttering a wild yell, leaping off the ground, and waving his bonnet in the air. For Kenneth had opened his eyes, gazed wonderingly about, and then fixed them on Max, as he knelt down and took his hand, and smiled.
“What is it?” he said feebly. “What’s the matter?”
Max was choking. A great ball seemed to be rising in his throat, and he had to get up hastily and turn away to hide his emotion.
“I—don’t quite— What’s the matter, Tavvy?”
“Matter, my bonnie laddie!” cried the great forester, dropping on his knees and placing his hands tenderly on the injured brow; “on’y a wee bit scratch on the heid. Gie’s the cloth, Shon lad, and I’ll bind it up. Ye had a dip i’ the watter, but ye’re a’ richt the noo.”