"Is he down safely?"
"Ou ay! she's all right," replied Tavish, as he gazed calmly down.
"Come and look."
Max shook his head. He had had shocks enough to his nerves that day,
and could bear no more.
Long Shon, however, went to the edge, and stood looking down with a grim
smile. Sneeshing did the same, and barked; while Scoodrach threw
himself down, and lay on the edge of the cliff looking over.
"Haul away!" came from below, and Tavish drew up a pair of coarse
worsted stockings knotted together and tied to the rope.
These were set at liberty, and, as they were placed upon a rock, there
was a good deal of shuffling and movement inside, the occupants of the
stockings trying first to ascend the legs, and then travelling back
toward the toes, and remaining quiescent till there was the shadow cast
by a bird, as it darted overhead, and a shrill cry, which seemed to set
the young birds in a state of great excitement.
"Oh, if I'd been up there!" shouted Kenneth from below. "What a chance
for a shot!"
"Retty, Maister Ken?"
"Yes; haul away."
"Now, Scood, hang on, and heave her up," cried Tavish.
"She could choost pull her up wi' ane han'," said Long Shon scornfully.
"Ay, but she's a wunnerfu' man," said the forester coolly, and he half
closed his eyes, and then passed the rope through his hands as Scood
took hold and walked inward, as if he had harnessed himself, Sneeshing
walking by his side, and seeming to take the deepest interest in all
that was going on.
A minute more, and Tavish had swung Kenneth on to the cliff, the birds
were given to Scoodrach to carry, and the party descended the gully,
laughing heartily at the adventure, which was talked over from all
sides, and Max questioned and criticised about his sailing the boat,
till they had reached within a tack of Dunroe, when Tavish said, in his
broad dialect, and with one of his pleasant looks,--
"She mustn't mind what ta young Chief says. She sailed ta poat
peautifully, only ta next tune she mustna pull oot ta cork."
"Eh, pull out the cork!" cried Kenneth sharply. "Why, you haven't been
at the whisky, Max? No; there was none on board."
"Na, na," cried Tavish, "ta cork plug. She sailt in wi' ta watter
nearly up to her knees."
"Ay," said Long Shon, gazing down at Max's still wet trouser legs; "an'
aw'm thinking it shows ta creat ignorance o' ta Southron folk, to baggie
up her legs like tat, when a man might wear a kilt and niver get her
legs wet at all."
"All right, Shonny. Mr Max is going to have one, with a plaid that'll
make your eyes ache. Now, Scoody, jump out, and take care of those
hawks. Hooray, Max! just in time. There goes the gong."