Kenneth stopped and shuddered.
“One of the boggy patches, Ken? Oh no, my boy. He has been out so much with you and Scoodrach, that he ought to be able to take care of himself by now.”
“Yes, father—ought to,” said Kenneth meaningly; and then, in an outburst of passion, as he stood with clenched fists, “I’ll give Scoody such a thrashing as he never had in his life! I’ll half kill him.”
“Hush! That will do,” said The Mackhai sadly. “The boy acted according to his lights. He was, in his half-savage way, fighting for the honour of our old house.”
“Yes, father, but—”
“Hush, my boy! Our days are numbered at Dunroe: let us leave here with as pleasant memories as we can, and with the love and respect of those who have looked to us for bread.”
“Oh, father!” cried Kenneth; and there was a great sob in his throat, and his face was contracted though his eyes were dry.
The Mackhai grasped his son’s hand.
“Be a man, Ken,” he said quietly. “You ought to have commenced life well, but now you will have to go forth into the world and fight your way. You must make friends, not enemies.”
“It would not make Scood an enemy, father, and a good whacking would do him good.”