“Broke up the deer, indeed? Why, she wass just finished packing them up in ta boxes.”
“Come and see, Max,” cried Kenneth, leading the way into a long, low building, badly lit by one small window, through which the sun shone upon a man seated crouched together upon a wooden block, with one elbow upon his bare knee, and a pipe held between his lips.
“Hallo, Tavish, you here?” cried Kenneth. “Here, Max, this is our forester. Stand up, Tavish, and let him see how tall you are.”
Max had stopped by the doorway, for the smell and appearance of the ill-ventilated place were too suggestive of a butcher’s business to make it inviting; but he had taken in at a glance a pile of deal cases, a block with knives, chopper, and saw, and the heads, antlers, and skins of a couple of red deer.
The smoker smiled, at least his eyes indicated that he smiled, for the whole of the lower part of his face was hidden by the huge beard which swept down over his chest, and hid his grey flannel shirt, to mingle with the hairy sporran fastened to his waist.
Then the pipe was lowered, two great brown hairy hands were placed upon his knees, and, as the muscular arms straightened, the man slowly heaved up his back, keeping his head bent down, till his broad shoulders nearly touched the sloping roof, and then he took a step or two forward.
“She canna stand quite up without knocking her head, Master Kenneth.”
“Yes, you can—there!” cried Kenneth. “Now then, head up. There, Max, what do you think of him? Six feet six. Father says he’s half a Scandinavian. He can take Shon under one arm and Scood under the other, and run with them up-hill.”
Max stared wonderingly at the great good-tempered-looking giant, with high forehead and kindly blue eyes, which made him, with his aquiline nose, look as grand a specimen of humanity as he had ever seen.
“She knockit her head against that beam once, sir and it’s made her verra careful ever since. May she sit down now, Master Kenneth?”