“I’ll tak’ care o’ them mysel’, sir.”
“Ye need na’ fash yer heed aboot us, laird,” said the skipper. “Bein’ more used to the sea than the mountains, we will be content to look on. Iss that not so, Shames?”
“That iss so—what-ë-ver,” returned the seaman.
“Well, come along then; the beaters must be at work now. How many did you get, Ivor?”
“I’m not exactly sure, sir,” returned the keeper; “there’s Ian Anderson an’ Tonal’ from Cove, an’ Mister Archie an’ Eddie, an’ Roderick—that’s five. Oo, ay, I forgot, there’s that queer English loon, Robin Tips—he’s no’ o’ much use, but he can mak’ a noise—besides three o’ Mr Grant’s men.”
“That’s plenty—now then—”
“Please, father,” said Junkie, who had listened with open eyes and mouth, as well as ears, for this was his first deer-stalk, “may I stop with Mr Barret?”
“Certainly, my boy, if Mr Barret does not object.”
Of course Mr Barret did not object, though he was rather surprised at this mark of preference.
“I say, me boy,” whispered Pat Quin, “ask av I may stop wid ye.”