“Father said I was to make you quite at home, Max,” said Kenneth, “so let’s see old Donald before we go. You have been introduced to the cook by deputy. Come along.”
“Who is old Donald—is he a chief?”
“Chief! no. I thought I told you. He’s our piper.”
“Oh!”
“This way.”
Kenneth led his companion back to the great entrance of the ruined castle, through which gateway Scoodrach had gone in search of the rods.
Tah-tah-tah! cried the jackdaws, as the lads entered the open gloomy yard, and half a dozen began to fly here and there, while two or three perched about, and peered inquiringly down first with one eye and then with the other.
Max looked up at the mouldering walls, with their crevices dotted with patches of polypody and ruta muraria, velvety moss, and flaunting golden sun ragwort, and wondered whether the place was ever attacked.
“Here’s Scood,” cried Kenneth, as the lad appeared through the farther arch, bearing a couple of long rods over his shoulder as if they were lances for the defence. “Here, we’re going up to see Donald. Is he there?”
“Yes, she heard him as she went to the house.”