A fortnight's terrible anxiety, during which Max rarely left Kenneth's
room. Every morning, though, it grew into a custom that he should go
down to the old castle yard, where Tavish, Long Shon, old Donald, and
Scoody were always waiting to hear his report of the patient's progress.
"An' has she askit for the pipes?" old Donald whispered mysteriously;
and, on receiving an answer in the negative, he looked reproachfully at
the speaker. "She's waiting and retty," he would say; "and a good lilt
on ta pipes would do her all ta petter as ta physic stuff."
At the end of a week, Donald determined to try his medicine unasked, and
struck up "The March of the Mackhai" under Kenneth's window.
The doctor rang the bell furiously, and Grant, who guessed what it
meant, ran out and seized the old piper, to bundle him out of hearing.
That day there was nearly murder done, for Donald drew his sgian-dhu and
swore he would have the butler's "bluid," to which Grant responded by
firing half a pail of water at the furious old man, who was then carried
off, foaming and muttering wildly in Gaelic, and was only calmed down by
Long Shon telling him it would "kill ta young Chief" if he made so much
noise.
Tavish was terribly low-spirited.
"Ta pools are fu' o' saumont," he would say, "and there's naebody to
catch them, for the hand that throws a flee better nor ta whole wurrld
lies low. Ye'll came and catch a saumont, Maister Max? Ta Chief said
she was to shoot and fush, and have ta poat when she liked. Ye'll came
the morning?"
"No, Tavish; I can't leave Kenneth; perhaps he'll want me to read to
him."
"Rest? wha's ta use o' reating to ta laddie? If it was na for ta
toctor, wha's a clever chiel' wi ta rod, what should we do?"
For the doctor stayed on, combining pleasure with work, seeing Kenneth
two or three times a day, and fishing in the intervals.
"I shall never be able to repay you for your kindness, Curzon," said The
Mackhai one morning.
"My dear sir," said the doctor, "you pay me every day. I never lived
better; I never had a more comfortable room; and I never had better
fishing."
"You are satisfied?"
"Satisfied! My dear sir, I am congratulating myself every hour upon my
luck in being able to exchange my poor services for such comfortable
quarters and excellent sport."
"Kenneth owes his life to you, and I shall never be sufficiently
grateful."
"Well, he owes it to me because I was the nearest doctor. Any medical
man would have done the same."
"You do not make enough of your skill."
"Nonsense, my dear sir! If you are satisfied, I am."
"And you feel sure that he is mending fast?"
"Oh yes, certain. The head trouble has passed now. Poor lad! he must
have had a terrible fall. I went with your forester yesterday, and he
showed me the place. It's little short of a miracle that he escaped
alive."
That night Max was in Kenneth's room, waiting for him to wake up before
he said good-night, for the night was hot and the invalid had gone to
sleep.
Max was half leaning out of the open window, gazing at the sea sparkling
with light, so that it was hard to tell where the stars ended and the
reflections began.
Max was thinking. He had had his regular letters from his father, one
of which was in answer to an apologetic epistle on his stopping so long,
and hoping that he might be allowed to stay till Kenneth was quite
recovered.
Mr Blande's letter, from the old Inn of Court, told his son that he was
not to think of returning, but to make himself at home at Dunroe, and do
everything he could to become acquainted with the place and people, at
the same time learning all he could about the fishing and shooting.
"Make yourself a country gentleman as fast as you can, and even if the
Mackhais are a little stiff and distant with you, do not resent it or
take any notice of the slight, but stay."
"That would be very unpleasant if they did behave slightingly," said Max
to himself. "Oh, he's awake now."
He left the window and went back to Kenneth's bedside, but it was only
to find that he had merely moved restlessly, and was still fast asleep.
Max did not go back, but stood there patiently watching the sleeping
lad, till a faint sound made him start, and he stared at the window,
feeling half paralysed, for dimly seen against the darkness there as a
head visible. Then there was more rustling, and the chest appeared; a
couple of arms were passed in, and their owner began to draw himself up.
Burglars! an attack upon the place! What could it mean?
The intruder's face caught the light from the lamp, as he threw one leg
over the window-sill, and sat there, as if hesitating about coming
farther.
"Scoodrach!" cried Max. "How did you get up there?"
"She climbed up."
"But how dangerous! What made you do that?"
"She wanted to see ta young Chief, and they wadna let her come."
"How foolish of you! you might have slipped and fallen."
"They let you see her, and they tell her she shall na come. She will
see ta young Mackhai."
He said this menacingly, as if Max were one of those who kept him away.
"But he is very ill."
"Scoodrach tid not make her ill."
"No, of course not; but go now, there's a good fellow. You'll see him
as soon as he's better."
"She wants to see her the noo," growled the lad sullenly; "and she tries
to keep her away."
"Nothing of the kind! Why, I tell you every morning how he is."
"Yes, but she wants to see hersel'. She's going to tie, and they wadna
let her come oop."
"Kenneth is not going to die; he's much better."
"She wants to see for hersel'."
"Will you go down, then, as soon as you've seen?"
"She wants to know why Scoodrach canna stay, when a strange Southron
stops always in ta place."
"I am a visitor here, and was asked to stay," said Max rather stiffly;
but his words were not heard, for the young gillie had dropped into the
room, and ran barelegged and barefoot over the carpet to the bedside, to
bend down and gaze intently in Kenneth's face.
Just then a low cough was heard on the stair, and Scoodrach darted to
the window, crept out, and disappeared, just as the door-handle faintly
rattled.
Max went quickly to the window, but could only see something shadowy
creeping downward, and he would have stopped gazing down at the climber,
whose progress had a strange fascination for him, if the doctor's voice
had not taken his attention.
"Perhaps you had better shut the window. Lovely night. Has he been
sleeping quietly?"
"Yes."
"That's right. Going on capitally; but do you know what time it is?"
"Yes, nearly twelve. I was waiting for him to wake up and say
good-night before I went."
"Then you'll have to wait till to-morrow morning, my dear sir, for he is
in a deep, satisfying sleep, and I don't suppose he'll wake again.
Good-night."
He shook hands and left the room, when Max's first step was to run to
the window, and open it gently, but there was not a sound to be heard
but the lapping of the waves among the rocks below.
Time after time The Mackhai, whose manner seemed greatly softened to
him, suggested to Max that he should go fishing, shooting, or try one of
the ponies.
"The keeper will go with you," he said; "and you seem to be wasting so
much time. Why, we are turning you into quite a hospital nurse."
"Oh no; I would rather not go without Kenneth," said Max hastily; and
The Mackhai said no more, being in doubt in his own mind whether the
refusal was from cowardice or from disinclination to leave the invalid,
who grew more fretful and impatient every day that he approached
convalescence.
"Why can't you go and fish, or shoot, or do something, Max? You haven't
tried for the trout yet. How I do hate to see you sitting there gaping
at a fellow!"
"Did I gape?"
"Yes; you're always gaping, or bothering me to take one of old Curzon's
doses. I say!"
"Yes."
"See Tavvy this morning?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"That he wished you to get well, and come and catch some salmon."
"Well, it isn't my fault. I want to get well, don't I? A fellow can't
want to lie here always, with his back getting sore. I say, do open the
window."
Max glanced at the window to make sure.
"It is open," he said.
"No, it isn't."
"Yes, it is. Look!"
"Well, shut it, then. I hate to hear the sea."
"I like it," said Max, closing the sash.
"Yes, you miserable Cockneys always do. It gives one the horrors when
you can't go out. Is it high tide?"
"No; quite low."
"It can't be. Go and look."
Max went to the window and looked out.
"The rocks are bare ever so far out, and you can see all the yellow
weed."
"No, I can't."
"I meant I can."
"Well, why don't you say what you mean? Phew! how hot this room is!
You might open a window."
Max smiled at his companion's petulance, and opened the window.
"Now, you're laughing at a poor miserable beggar."
"No, no, Kenneth," said Max, taking his hand.
"Don't do that! I wish you wouldn't be such a molly. Can't you say
`No, no,' without catching hold of a fellow's hand?--and one `no' is
enough. How jolly hot it is! See old Tonal' this morning?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"He wants to come up and play to you on the pipes."
"Did he say he would?"
"Yes; and that he'd cut his way to you if they didn't let him come. He
was going to sharpen his broadsword this morning."
"Look here: if he came up and began to play, he'd drive me mad. You go
down and get my double gun and some cartridges."
"What for?"
"You don't suppose I'm going to lie here and be driven mad! I'll shoot
him like I would a hare."
"Nonsense!" said Max, laughing.
"Well, you go and let him blow to you."
"No, thank you; I hate it."
"So do I; only a chap who is going to be chief of a clan some day
mustn't say he hates the horrible old row. Here, I shall get up."
He threw off the clothes; but Max dashed at him, and covered him to the
shoulders.
"No, no!" he cried.
"There you go with your `No, no,' again. You're just like a great girl,
Max."
"Am I? I'm very sorry."
"What's the good of being sorry? Be more like a man. Oh dear! I am so
tired of lying here!"
"Yes, it is very tiring."
"Well, I know that. I didn't want you to tell me. What did Scoody
say?"
"He's very angry because they will not let him come up to you, and will
hardly speak to me."
"No wonder."
"He says it's a shame for me to be always with you, and him not allowed
to come."
"So it is. Poor old Scoody! Did he say `she shall came'?"
"Yes, over and over again."
"So it is a shame, poor old chap! I'll bully father about it. I'd a
deal rather have him here than you."
"Would you, Kenneth?"
"Yes, ever so much: hanging about one, and wanting to coddle one like an
old woman! I hate it!"
"I'm very sorry. I did my best to make you comfortable."
"You don't do your best. It bores me."
"Shall I read to you a bit now?"
"No! Bother your old books! Who wants to lie here and be read to about
your jolly old Hentys, and Friths, and Percy Groves? I don't want
books; I want to go out on the mountain, or in the boat, and have a
rattling good sail. Here, I shall get up."
Max seized him and pressed him back, for he was very weak.
"The doctor says if you get out of bed, you'll faint again, same as you
did yesterday."
"All right!" said Kenneth, struggling feebly; "I want to faint the same
as I did yesterday. It will be a change."
"Nonsense! you shall not get up."
Kenneth lay back panting.
"Oh, how I do hate you!" he cried. "Just you wait till I get strong
again. I'll serve you out. Scoody and I will duck you, and get you on
the pony, and--I know! Just you let me get a chance, and I'll send you
sailing down the falls just the same as I did."
"No, you will not."
"Oh, won't I? you'll see. If you knock me about again like this, I'll
wait my chance, and pepper you with grouse-shot, and see how you like
that. I say!"
"Yes, Kenneth."
"Don't say `Yes, Kenneth,' say `Yes.' Look here: why doesn't Long Shon
come to ask how I am?"
"He does, every morning."
"He doesn't! a miserable old duck's legs!"
"But he does. I told you so."
"That you didn't. You take advantage of my lying here, and--Oh, I say,
you might shut that window, it does make it so hot."
Max rose to go and close the window; but Kenneth caught his hand and
held it, looking up at him wet-eyed and wistful.
"Maxy, old chap," he said softly.
"Yes."
"I am such a beast!"
"Nonsense!"
"I am. Don't take any notice of what I say. I feel as if I must be
disagreeable, and say all sorts of things I don't mean, and all the time
I know what a good un you are, sitting in this nasty, stuffy old room,
that smells of physic enough to knock you down."
"I like sitting with you."
"You can't, when you might be out with Tavvy and Scood. I'd give
anything to go, and you must want to go, but you're such a good-hearted
old chap, to sit there and read for hours, and talk to a poor miserable
beggar who's never going to be well again."
"Why, you are getting on fast."
"No, I'm not. I'm sick of these jellies, and beef-teas, and slip-slops.
I want some beef, and salmon, and grouse pie, and to get strong again.
I say, Maxy, wasn't I a fool?"
Max was silent.
"You're too good a chap to say it, but you know it was just out of
bounce, and to show off, and it served me right. I say, you're not put
out at what I've been saying?"
"Not a bit."
"Call me a beast, and then I'll be satisfied."
"But I shouldn't be," said Max, laughing.
"Yes, do call me a beast, and forgive me. I don't mean it, for I do
like you, Maxy, honour bright!"
"I want you to like me," said the lad gravely.
"Well, I do. I'm as sorry as can be that I tried to frighten you, and
laughed at you. I've been sorry lots of times since I've been lying
here; and you will not take any notice of what I said?"
"Is it likely?" cried Max eagerly.
"Not with you, I suppose," said Kenneth thoughtfully; "but I'm afraid I
should think a lot about it."
"I shall not," said Max, "so say no more."
"Then let's talk about something else; it keeps me from thinking how
miserable and weak I am. I say, old Scood always pretended to be so
very fond of me; don't you think he might have come up and seen me?"
"You know he has always been trying."
"Oh, ah! so I do. I forgot."
"He climbed up to the window and got in one night."
"Scoody did? You never told me that."
"I never told anybody."
"And he got down again all safe? Why, it was more risky than climbing
up a rock. You tell him he must not do it again."
"I have told him."
"I'll ask my father to let him come up and see me, poor chap. He likes
me, you see, Max. I say, I am so dull and miserable, you might do one
thing for me."
"Yes: what shall I do?"
"Go and fetch the dogs. I want to see them."
Max nodded, and had reached the door, when Kenneth called him back.
"What is it?" said Max, staring, as he saw Kenneth's thin white hands
stretched out towards him, and a peculiar look on his face, which looked
the more strange from its having a long strapping of plaster across his
brow.
Kenneth made no reply, only held out his hand.
Max grasped his meaning, and caught the hand in his, to hold it tightly,
the two lads gazing in each other's eyes as a strong friendship was
cemented between them, one far more binding than Kenneth could have
imagined in his wildest dreams.
"There; I'm going to fetch the dogs," said Max hastily, and he ran out
of the room, and down and out into the castle yard, where, to his
horror, the first person he saw was old Donald, looking more wild and
strange than ever.
Max backed into the archway leading to the house, hoping he had not been
seen, but the old man uttered what was meant for a cry of delight, and,
smiling at him, began to beckon with his hand and arm.
"What shall I do?" muttered Max, as the old man came up and tried to
catch hold of his arm.
"Hey, bonnie laddie!" he cried, in a confidential whisper. "She's been
watching for ye. She's chust made ta peautiful new dirge, and she shall
play it to you up in ta toor."
"No, no," cried Max desperately. "The young Mackhai has sent me on a
message."
"Ou ay! Put she'll not pe long. It was a peautiful music, and ye--Ta
Southron laddie's gane!"
It was quite true, for Max had darted back and run to the dining-room,
to get round by the terrace, and so by the rocks to the other side of
the ruins, in search of the dogs.
There he came suddenly upon Scoodrach, lying on his chest in the sun,
and with his chin in his hands, gazing up at the window of Kenneth's
room.
"Here! hi, Scoodrach!" cried Max; and the lad looked at him scowling.
"Kenneth has sent me to fetch--"
Scoodrach sprang up, with his whole manner changed.
"She's sent her to fetch me?" he cried eagerly.
"No, no; to fetch--the dogs."
A savage look of anger flashed into the lad's face, and he stood with
his hands working.
"Na, na," he cried hoarsely; "it's a lee! Ta young Chief sent her to
fetch his gillie, and she's trying to keep her awa'!"
"I told you the truth," cried Max, almost as angrily. "Here, Sneeshing,
Sneeshing!" he cried, as he caught sight of the dog a hundred yards
away; and the quaint-looking little terrier pricked up his ears, looked
round, caught sight of the two boys, and came helter-skelter towards
them.
The effect of this dash was for a sharp bark to be heard, and Dirk came
into view, with his plume-like tail waving; while, before he was
half-way toward Max, Bruce came, making greyhound-like bounds and
evidently in a great state of excitement.
"Good dogs! good dogs, then!" cried Max, patting them; but they received
his caresses in rather a cool manner, and Bruce, who seemed
disappointed, was about to turn off and go, when Max bent over
Sneeshing.
The dog looked up at him curiously.
"Come along," said Max; "your master wants to see you."
The words had hardly left his lips, when Dirk made a bound, and rushed
off toward the open dining-room, window, behaviour which evidently
puzzled the great deerhound, who watched the collie for a few moments,
and then dashed off, followed by Sneeshing, who, however, responded to a
call, and, after looking inquiringly in the speaker's eyes, he followed
him toward the house.
Max stopped short at the end of a few yards and turned, to see Scoodrach
walking slowly away.
"Scoody!" he called to him; "you are to come up and see him soon."
"Tak' ta togs! tak' ta togs!" said the young gillie bitterly. "She
can't want to see me."
The collie and deerhound had both disappeared through the dining-room
window; but it was as Max suspected: when he and the terrier reached the
landing, Bruce was seated on the mat at Kenneth's chamber, and Dirk
lying down blinking at him, and every now and then snuffling and
thrusting his nose close to the bottom of the door.
As Max raised his hand to turn the handle, Dirk could contain himself no
longer, and uttered a loud bark, the answer to which was a faintly-heard
call from within the bedroom.
But, faint or no, it was enough to drive the dogs half wild; and, as Max
opened the door, they gave vent to a canine trio, and dashed through
quite a narrow crack, Bruce and Dirk together, for the great hound
bounded over the collie, while in his excitement Sneeshing went
head-over-heels into the room, but only to dash up to the bed, on to the
chair at the side, and then to snuggle in close down to his master,
while the others leaped on from opposite sides, and began pawing at the
invalid and licking his hand.
"Down! down, dogs!" cried Max excitedly, in alarm lest they should
injure the patient in his weak state. But, as he ran at the bed, Dirk
and Bruce set up their bristles and uttered menacing growls, while
Sneeshing thrust his rough head from under the clothes and added his
remonstrance in the same canine way.
"Let 'em alone, Maxy; they're only glad to see their old master again,"
cried Kenneth, as he began to stroke the dogs' heads. "Quiet, old boys!
Friends, friends! Come and pat 'em, Maxy; they mustn't bark at you.
Friends, Dirk! Friends, Bruce lad!"
"How!"
"Hooorr!"
The utterances of the two dogs, as they accepted their master's orders,
and began patting the white counterpane with their tails, while
Sneeshing uttered a series of short barks, shook his head, and shuffled
backwards, evidently laughing dogly with delight, and ending by getting
his muzzle on Kenneth's breast and lying quite still.
"Oh, I say, this is a treat!" said Kenneth, with a sigh of satisfaction,
as his hands were busy pulling the dogs' ears, and drawing the skin
sideways, so as to show the whites of their eyes.
"Don't let them stay long."
"Why not? Does me more good than old Curzon's dollops. I'll get up
to-morrow, and have the boat for a sail."
Dirk set up his ears at this, and began to bark as if he understood,
and, rising on all-fours, he pawed at Kenneth, as he would have done at
a sick sheep on the mountain-side, to make it rise.
The result of this action was to make Sneeshing resent the caressing of
the intrusive paw, which twice over scraped him, and he snapped at,
seized it, and held on.
Dirk howled out, "Don't! you hurt!" in dog.
Bruce gave vent to an angry bark at Sneeshing, who, however, held the
tighter, uttering a low worrying snarl.
"Let me send them away now, Kenneth!" cried Max.
"What? Why, it's glorious! Hold tight, Sneeshing!"
A tremendous barking began now, for Dirk was losing his temper, and in
another minute he would have dragged Sneeshing out of his snug place,
for he had seized him by the loose skin at the back of his neck, when
Kenneth shouted at them, and the disturbance ceased.
"I say, Max," he cried, "did you ever see Sneeshing dance the fling?
No, I never showed you. Here, give me those joints of my fly-rod," and
he pointed to them in a corner of the room.
Max fetched them; and as Kenneth took them and let them fall over his
shoulder, Sneeshing shuffled out of the bedclothes and began to bark.
"Draw out that pillow," said Kenneth.
Max obeyed wonderingly; and rather feebly, but laughing the while,
Kenneth tucked the pillow half under his left arm.
"What are you going to do?" cried Max.
"Wait a moment, and you'll see. Get back, you two--get back!"
Dirk and Bruce backed to the bottom of the bed, and sat up watching
eagerly, while Sneeshing threw up his head and howled.
"Quiet, stupid!" cried Kenneth; "it isn't Tonal'."
"How wow!" howled Sneeshing.
"Be quiet, sir! Yes, I will."
He threatened the dog with one of the joints of the rod, and then threw
it back over his left shoulder, as he lay with his head raised, and
began to squeeze the pillow in imitation of a bag with its pipes.
"Now, Sneeshing, go ahead! Give us the Hieland Fling!"