“It seems so horrible.”
“Not a bit. Why should it?” cried Kenneth. “It’s just as dangerous to sail in seven feet of water as in seven hundred.”
“Mind tat rock,” said Scoodrach.
“Well, I am minding it,” said Kenneth carelessly, as, with the wind coming now in a good steady breeze, consequent upon their being out of the shelter of the point, he steered so that they ran within a few feet of where the waves creamed over a detached mass of rock.
Max was gazing back at the cascade, whose aspect from where they were well warranted the familiar name by which it was known. He could, however, see no beauty in the wild leap taken by the stream, and he drew a sigh of relief as they glided by the next point, and the fall passed from his view, while the thunderous roar died away.
“There!” cried Kenneth; “that will be something for you to talk about when you go back. You don’t have falls like that in town.”
“She’d petter not talk about it,” said Scood. “If the Chief knows we took the poat so near, she’ll never let us go out in her again.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Kenneth. “It was pretty near, though. I say, don’t say anything to my father. Scood’s afraid he’d be horsewhipped.”
“Nay, it’s the young master is afraid,” retorted Scood.
“You say I’m afraid, Scood, and I’ll knock you in the water!”