“But it’s a verra fine mornin’ for a sail,” said the boy, looking up and munching away.
“But I didn’t want to sail; I wanted to fish.”
“The fush can wait, tat she can.”
“Oh, you!” shouted Kenneth. “Wish I had something to throw at you.”
“If she did, I’d throw it back,” said Scoodrach, grinning.
“I should like to catch you at it. There, go and get the boat.”
“Plenty of time.”
“Never mind that; let’s be off and have a good sail first, as we have to go.”
“Will she—will you tak’ the gun?”
“Of course I shall. Take the lines too, Scood; we may get a mackerel.”