“Is he? Is it much further, to the grey mare’s stable?” faltered the passenger.
The two boys roared with laughter, Max gazing from one to the other rather pitifully.
“Did I say something very stupid?” he asked mildly.
“Yes, you said stable,” cried Kenneth, wiping his eyes. “I say, Scood, wait till he sees the Grey Mare.”
“Yes; wait till she sees the Grey Mare,” cried Scood, bending double with mirth.
Max drew in a long breath, and gazed straight before him at the sea, and then to right and left of the fiord through which they were rapidly sailing. He saw the shore some three miles away on their left, and a couple to their right, a distance which they were reducing, as the boat, with the wind well astern, rushed on.
“It’s too bad to laugh at you,” said Kenneth, smoothing the wrinkles out of his face.
“I don’t know what I said to make you laugh,” replied Max, with a piteous look.
“Then wait till you see the Grey Mare’s Tail, and you will.”
“I don’t think I want to see it. I would rather you set me ashore, and let me walk.”