“Deal of mercy you had on me when I was ill. Now it’s my turn, and I’ve got you. I’ll serve you out.”
“But, indeed, I am well enough to get up.”
“No, you’re not. Tavvy says you are not to stir, and you must make the best of it.”
There was a scratching at the door just then, and Kenneth ran across the carpet to admit Dirk, who gave a sharp bark, and bounded to the bed to nuzzle his nose in Max’s hand.
“Did you ever see such a dog as that, Maxy? There are not many that would have hunted you out as he did.”
“No, I suppose not,” said Max sadly and wearily, as he lay there, suffering from the chill brought on by his exposure upon the mountains four nights before. “But it was a pity you brought me back.”
“That’s five times you’ve said that to-day,” cried Kenneth. “Now, just you say it once more, and I’ll punch your head.”
Max shook the threatened part of his person sadly, and then lay looking wearily at the window.
“Look here, old chap!” said Kenneth suddenly; “father says if you are not better by to-night, he shall send to Glasgow for a doctor to come and stop with you, and write word to your governor in London.”
“I’m—I’m much better,” said Max hastily. “I shall not want a doctor; and tell Mr Mackhai that I want to go home as soon as I can start.”