“No, she won’t, Scoodie,” said Kenneth mockingly; “but you soon will if you try.”
“Do you think so?” asked Max, who began now to feel ashamed of his shrinking and nervousness.
“Of course I do. Why, you weren’t half so bad as some fellows are. Remember Tom Macandrew, Scood?”
“Ou ay. She always felt as if she’d like to trown that boy.”
“Look sharp!” cried Kenneth, nearly dressed. “Don’t be too particular. You’ll soon get your hair dry.”
“But it wants combing.”
“Comb it when you get indoors. Come away. Let’s have a run now, and then there’ll be time to polish up before breakfast. You, Scood, we shall go fishing this morning, so be ready. Now then, Max,—I shall call you Max,—you don’t mind climbing up here again, do you?”
“Is there no other way?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s go, then.”