“No, no, Ken. Now get some food, and go and lie down for a few hours to have some rest. We can do nothing till daylight.”
“Very well, father. And—and I will try not to mind leaving the old place, and to be a man.”
“God bless you, my boy!” cried The Mackhai, laying his hands upon his son’s shoulders and gazing into his eyes. “Come, Ken, trouble has its good sides after all; it has taught me something more about the nature of my son. Now, go and get some rest; I shall not be happy till I have taken that boy again by the hand.”
“Why, father!” cried Kenneth excitedly. “Oh, what an old donkey I am!”
Before The Mackhai could speak, he had rushed out of the room and across the hall, to return at the end of a few minutes in company with Dirk, who was barking, and as excited as his master.
“Why, Ken!” cried The Mackhai.
“It’s all right, father. Dirk will find him. Tavvy is waiting. Don’t you come. We’ll have poor old Maxy back before long.”
“I shall come with you,” said The Mackhai, rising, and taking a flask and plaid from where they lay. “What are you going to do first?”
“I’ll soon show you,” cried Ken excitedly. “Here, Dirk, old boy, put on your best nose to-night, and let’s show the Londoner what a Highland dog can do.”
Dirk barked loudly, and followed his master as he rushed out of the room and up-stairs to Max’s chamber, where Kenneth dragged some of the clothes which his visitor had worn last down upon the carpet.