“Oh, it is a man,” said Neil, handing over the glass, “What would a woman be doing up sa hills on a morning like this?”
The small party below came up out of the gray mist, and Lavender in the distance heard a long view-halloo.
“Cott tam them!” said Neil, at a venture. “There is not a deer on Benan Cabrach that will not hear them.”
“But if these strangers are coming to see me, I fear we must leave the deer alone, Neil.”
“Ferry well, sir, ferry well, sir; it is a bad day whatever, and it is not many strangers will come to Jura. I suppose they hef come to Port Ascaig, and taken the ferry across the sound.”
“I am going to meet them on chance,” Lavender said; and set off along the side of the deep valley, leaving Neil with the dogs and the rifles.
“Hillo, Johnny!” he cried, in amazement, when he came upon the advancing group. “And you too, Mosenberg! By Jove, how did you ever get here?”
There was an abundance of handshaking and incoherent questions when young Mosenberg jumped down on the wet heather, and the three friends had actually met. Lavender scarcely knew what to say, these two faces were so strange, and yet so familiar—their appearance there was so unexpected, his pleasure so great.
“I can’t believe my eyes yet, Johnny. Why did you bring him here? Don’t you know what you’ll have to put up with in this place? Well, this does do a fellow’s heart good! I am awfully pleased to see you, and it is very kind of you.”
“But I am very cold,” the handsome Jew boy said, swinging his arms and stamping his feet. “Wet boats, wet carts, wet roads, wet saddles, and everywhere cold, cold, cold.”