Then there was silence, and from out of the distant darkness came a low hail.
The dog barked again sharply, and stopped, when there was the hail again more loudly, and this was repeated at intervals as the dog scuffled about, running a little way to bark, and then coming, back to plant his paws on Max’s chest.
All this now seemed part of a dream, till he was roused again by hearing a panting sound, feeling his hand seized, and then hearing a familiar voice shout,—
“Father, ahoy! Tavvy, ahoy! Here he is!” and, as the dog whined and barked again, there were faint hails from the distance. Then these grew louder, and the next thing Max heard was,—
“Oh, Maxy, old lad!” and a warm hand was laid upon his brow.
Then there was more hailing, and barking, and an impatient muttering, and then there were deeper voices talking close by where he lay, and, as if in part of his dream, something hot and strangling seemed to be trickling down his throat.
“There,” said a deep voice which seemed very familiar, “she’ll ket the plaidie round the laddie when she’s cot her on her pack, and that and ta whusky’ll warm her.”
“I’ll carry him when you are tired, Tavish,” said another familiar voice.
“She can carry ta puir laddie all tay an’ all nicht. Maister Ken, tit ye iver see a tog wi’ a petter nose than Dirk?”
“No, Tavvy; but do make haste.”