“Hurray!” yelled Scoodrach, breaking loose and throwing his bonnet in the air. “Weel done, Maister Max! But na, na; it’s no’ her poat, and naething here is hers, ye ken.”
“Come on, Ken.”
“Well, sir, I shall report all this to—”
“Ye ill-faured loon, stan’ awa’,” yelled Scoodrach, as Max laid his hand on Kenneth’s shoulder; and they went down together to the boat, while the bailiff and his man walked muttering back to the house.
“Jump in, Scoodrach, and cast her loose,” cried Max; but Kenneth’s hand closed tightly on his wrist.
“No, Max,” he said slowly and sadly. “Let’s get back into the house. I don’t feel as if I could go for a sail to-day.”
“Oh, Ken!” whispered Max; “and I said everything was mine. I did not mean it. I couldn’t take a thing.”
“Let’s go indoors.”
“But if by law the boat is mine, it’s yours again now. Come, take me for one more ride.”
“No, no! I can’t go now.”