Chapter Twenty One.
An anxious Time.
The Mackhai did not return home till the next morning, and his first inquiry was why had not a doctor been fetched.
He nodded with satisfaction at the answer he received.
Tavish and Grant had sat up all night with their young master, and Max had been to them at least a dozen times, for a consultation to be held at daybreak, and for Tavish to agree that something must be done.
The result had been that he and Long Shon had taken the boat before sunrise, and gone off to Port Staffey, where Grant knew a medical man to be staying for a holiday, and to fish.
For poor Kenneth was quite delirious, and about midday, after going out on the terrace to scan the offing eagerly for signs of the boat, The Mackhai went back into the house, and up to his son’s room, to hear the injured lad talking at random, and a hoarse sob escaped from the father’s lips.
“My poor boy!” he groaned; “and am I to lose you? Well, better so, perhaps—better than to live a beggar, ready to curse your weak father for the ruin he has brought— Hah! how came you here?”