“Na, na. T’auld pipe is ta best. Lat ’em lay ’em here.”
“Here?” said Kenneth inquiringly.
“Yes, laddie, here.”
The old man’s whim was gratified, and he dropped off to sleep with his arm round his instrument, cuddling it up to him on the pillow as if it had been a darling child.
Donald was left to sleep; and, under Kenneth’s orders, all hands were set to work to clear away the traces of the fight, while Scoodrach was sent out to scout and bring back tidings of the whereabouts of the enemy.
The young gillie had recovered his sgian-dhu from where it had been thrown by Kenneth, and he ran off with alacrity, delighted with his task; while baskets and maunds were brought, and amidst plenty of hearty laughter the potatoes were gathered up, the women entering into the task heart and soul.
But, like Humpty Dumpty, the various earthenware pots that had fallen from the wall, even with the aid of all the king’s horses and men, could not have been put together again, so Long Shon gathered the sherds into a basket, throwing one load into the sea, and coming back for another.
“I say, look here, Tavvy,” cried Kenneth very innocently, after hurling a potato with magnificent aim at Max’s back, and completely ignoring his inquiring gaze as the visitor turned round.
“Tid she call me?”
“Yes; we must have this old spar out of the way, for they may come back and have better luck next time.”