Max stared, for Scoodrach had turned his back, begun to whistle, and walked away.
“He was ashamed to let me see him crying,” thought Max. “I’m not the only coward in the world.”
He stood for a few moments gazing after Scoodrach, and then walked quickly back, to find Kenneth sitting up.
“She’s a teal petter the noo,” cried Tavish triumphantly. “There, laddie; ye’ll get up, and we’ll chust gang hame.”
“Yes; I’m not much hurt, Max,” said Kenneth, with a ghastly attempt at a laugh. “I say, old chap, you couldn’t do that. Here, give us your hand.”
Max eagerly tried to help him rise, and Kenneth made a brave effort to get upon his legs, but he snatched at the forester’s arm, with his face contracting and turning ghastly pale, as his eyes looked dim and then half closed.
They gently laid him down, and bathed his forehead with water.
“Chust a wee bit dizzy, puir laddie,” said Tavish tenderly. “Bide a wee, Long Shon, till he opes his een acain, and then ye shall put him on my pack, and I’ll carry him doon to the shore, and we’ll mak’ Scood rin on and ket the poat and twa pillows, and ket him richt across to the rock.”
“Ay,” said Long Shon approvingly. “But she must hae a teal o’ watter in her; shall she rin it oot the noo?”
“Na, na!” cried Tavish, in a low, fierce growl. “Hey, Scoody!”