"Oh, yes, three wild pigeons! But what a lovely great wild turkey! I'm sure, Duncan, it was a pity to kill him!"
"Sport, Sissie, sport!" said Duncan.
Yet as he looked at the splendidly plumaged bird which his gun had laid low in death, he smothered a sigh. He half repented now having killed the 'cailzie.
Homeward next, for all were hungry, and in the old-fashioned hall of the house of Glenvoie breakfast would be waiting for them. Through the forest dark and deep, across a wide and clear brown stream by stepping-stones, a stream that in England would be called a river, then on to a broad heathy moorland, with here and there a cottage and little croft.
Poor enough these were in all conscience, but they afforded meal and milk to the owners and their children. Chubby-cheeked hardy little chaps these were. They ran to gate or doorway to greet our young heroes with cheers shrill and many, and Flora smiled her sweetest on them. Neither stockings nor shoes nor caps had they, winter or summer, and when they grew up many of them would join the army, and be first in every bayonet charge where tartans would wave and bonnets nod.
Laird M'Vayne himself came to the porch to meet his children. These were all he had, and their mother was an invalid.
An excellent specimen of the Highland laird was this Chief M'Vayne. As sturdy and strong in limb as a Hercules, broad in shoulder, and though sixty years and over, as straight as an arrow. His was a fearless face, but handsome withal, and he never looked better than when he smiled. Smiling was natural to him, and came straight from the heart, lighting up his whole face as morning sunshine lights the sea.
"Better late than never, boys. What ho! a capercailzie!"
Then he placed his hand so kindly on Duncan's shoulder.
"It was a good shot, I can see," he said, "and now we won't kill any more of these splendid birds. I want the woods to swarm with them."