irectly."

"Yes. Shall I put on my dress things?"

"No, no, no! You'd make the pater laugh horribly. Here, I tell you
what! you and I are about the same size--shall I lend you some of my
duds?"

"Oh, if you would!" cried Max.

"All right!"

Kenneth dashed off to his own room, and came back in a minute.

"Here you are!" he cried. "Slip on those socks."

"But I've got socks."

"But they won't do. On with these."

"But--"

"On with them. The gong will go directly."

Horribly scared at the idea of keeping The Mackhai waiting again, Max
obeyed, hardly knowing what he did, and then he made a protest as
Kenneth held out a garment for him to put on next.

"Oh," he exclaimed, "I couldn't put on that!"

"But you must. You haven't a moment to spare; and it's my best one."

Max shrank, and then yielded, for all at once boom! boom! boom! sounded
the gong; and, half frantic with haste and his want of moral courage,
the poor boy submitted to the domination of his tormentor, with the
result that, five minutes after the gong had ceased, and still
hesitating as to whether he had not better stay away, Max followed
Kenneth down-stairs, that young gentleman having preceded him two
minutes.

"The Mackhai is beginning breakfast, sir," said Grant, as Max came down;
and he drew back with a tray full of hot viands, his sour, stony face
relaxing into a grin as the shrinking figure of the young guest passed
him.

"Good morning, Mr Blande!" said The Mackhai sternly; and then his
severe face underwent a change. He was about to burst out laughing, but
he bit his lip, frowned, and then in a changed tone of voice said,
"Thank you for the compliment, Mr Blande."

"It--it was not meant for a compliment, sir," faltered Max.

"Indeed! I thought you had donned our tartan out of compliment to your
host."

"It is an accident, sir," stammered Max, with his face scarlet. "I have
lost my clothes, and Kenneth has been kind enough to lend me a suit."

"Oh, I see!" said The Mackhai, as the dogs, which for a treat had been
admitted, came sniffing round the shivering lad, who looked pitiably
thin and miserable in the kilt, with the sporran hanging down far lower
than it should.

"It is a very comfortable dress," said The Mackhai, recovering himself,
though, to Kenneth's delight and Max's misery, he could not repress a
smile. "There, pray, sit down, the breakfast is growing cold."

Max went to his place shrinkingly, for Bruce,