Chapter Four.
Welcome to Dunroe.
A cry of horror rose to Max Blande’s lips, but there it seemed to be frozen, and he knelt, with starting eyes, crouched together, and gazing up at the falling water. Stunned by the roar, too helpless to lend the slightest aid to the rowers, he felt that in another moment they would be right beneath, when the boat suddenly careened over, struck by the sharp puff of wind which seemed to come tearing down the ravine from which the torrent issued, and in a few moments they were fifty feet away, and running rapidly toward the mouth of the bay.
The first thing Max Blande realised was that he had been knocked over into the bottom of the boat by Kenneth, who had sprung to the rudder, and the next that he had been trampled on by Scood, who had seized the sheet, and held on to trim the sail.
Max got up slowly, and shivered as he glanced at the great fall and then at his companions, who, now that the danger was past, made light of it, and burst into a hearty laugh at his expense.
“Are we out of danger?” he faltered.
“Out of danger! Yes, of course; wasn’t any,” replied Kenneth. “Had the boat full; that’s all. You said you could swim, didn’t you?”
Max shook his head.
“Ah, well, it don’t matter now! Scood and I can soon teach you that.”