“Then sop the watter up,” cried Kenneth mockingly, as a few gallons began to swirl about in the boat.
“Is—is it much farther?”
“No, not much. Can you see the North Pole yet, Scood?”
Max looked bewildered.
“No, she can’t see no North Poles,” muttered Scood, as he diligently dried the boat.
“Never mind; I can steer home without,” laughed Kenneth. “There we are. You can see Dunroe now.”
They were just rounding a great grey bluff of rock, and he pointed to the old castle, as it stood up, ruddy and warm, lit by the western glow.
“I—I can’t see it. Is it amongst those trees?”
“No, no. That’s Dunroe—the castle.”
“Oh!” said Max; and he sat there in silence, gazing at the old ruin, as they rapidly drew nearer, Kenneth, after giving Scood a laughing look, steering so as to keep the boat direct for the ancient stronghold, with its open windows, crumbling battlements and yawning gateway, which acted as a screen to the comfortable modern residence behind.