"No, no, no!" cried Kenneth, stamping about with mirth, while another
chopped-off laugh seemed to come from below. "Tavvy means a fly. You
go on and do as I say."

"But, Master Ken, there shall not be a fush there."

"You Tavvy, if you say another word, I'll pitch you into the river."

The great Highlander chuckled softly, like a big turkey practising a
gobble, and took off his bonnet to rub his head, while Kenneth hurried
Max on, and stood on the shore, while the visitor walked out over the
stones amongst which the river ran and foamed, Max looking, rod in hand,
like a clumsy tight-rope dancer balancing himself with his pole.

Kenneth held up his hand to Tavish, who stared wonderingly, and took off
his cap to look inside it as if he expected an explanation there, but he
put it on again, and stood watching his young master and the visitor
wonderingly, as the latter, urged by Kenneth, made an attempt to throw
the fly, which fell almost at his feet.

"There's no watter on the far side," muttered Tavish.

Whish went the line again.

"Well done, Max. Go on. You'll soon do it, and catch a salmon," cried
Kenneth.

"It's very awkward standing here," said Max appealingly.

"You're all right. Throw away. Get your fly the other side of the
stone."

"Phwhat for will she get the flee the other side o' the stane?" muttered
Tavish, tugging at his beard.

"Now, another, Max. Go on."

"Noo anither, she says to the puir feckless laddie."

Whizz!

Max made a desperate throw, and, to his own wonderment, the line, with
the fly at the end, passed right over the great block of stone lying
close to the shore.

"Is that right?" said Max.

"Yes. Bravo! capital! You'll have one. Don't strike too hard if you
have a touch."

"Stanes and spates!" roared the great Highlander, leaping from the
ground in his excitement. "Strike, laddie, strike! That's gran'! Haud
oop yer rod. Keep the point o' yer rod oop. Noo, Master Kenneth
laddie, ye shall see what tooks place. Keep oop the point o' yer rod,
laddie. Dinna haud on by the reel. Let the fush rin! let the fush rin!
Hech! but it does a man's hairt gude to see."

"It's tugging so, it will pull me in," cried Max, whose face was flushed
with excitement as his rod bent nearly double.

"No, no; stand fast. Keep a tight line," cried Kenneth, who seemed just
as excited. "It's a rare big one, Max."

"Ay, it's a fine fush," cried the forester. "It's nae kelt. Shall