usly near his eyes.

Once or twice there really had been reason for this, but, seeing how
nervous it made Max, Scoodrach kept it up, taking a malicious delight in
ducking his head, rubbing his nose, and fidgeting the tyro, who would
gladly have laid down his rod but for the encouraging remarks made by
Kenneth.

All at once the latter turned his head, from where he stood in the bows
of the boat, and began watching Max, smiling grimly as he saw how clumsy
a cast was made, and the smile grew broader as he noticed Scoodrach's
exaggerated mock gesticulations of dread.

Then there was another cast, and Scood ducked his head down again. Then
another cast, and Scood threw his head sideways and held up one arm, but
this time the side of his bare head came with a sounding rap up against
the butt of Kenneth's rod.

"Mind what you're doing!" shouted Kenneth.

"Hwhat tid ye do that for?" cried Scoodrach, viciously rubbing his
sconce.

"Do it for? Why don't you sit still, and not get throwing your head
about all over the boat?"

"She tid it o' purpose," growled Scoodrach; "and she's cooard to hit a
man pehind her pack."

"If you call me a coward, Scoody, I'll pitch you overboard."

"No, she wouldna. She has not get pack her strength."

"Then Max will help me, and we'll see then."

"Pitch her overboard, then, and she'll swim ashore, and she'll hae to
row ta poat her ainsel'."

But Scoodrach had no occasion to swim, for he was not pitched overboard;
and, as the wind dropped and the water became like glass, the rods were
laid in, and Scoodrach rowed them along in sulky silence toward the
shore; Kenneth, as he sat now beside his companion, returning to the
idea he had been about to start some time before.

"I say, Max," he said, "I wonder what's the matter with father. I wish
old Curzon was here. I think the pater is going to be ill."

"I hope not."

"So do I; but he always seems so dull, and talks so little."

"I thought he seemed to be very quiet."

"Quiet! I should think he is. Why, he used to be always going out
shooting or fishing, and taking me. Now, he's continually going to
Glasgow on business, or else to Edinburgh."

"When do you expect him back?"

"I don't know. He said it was uncertain. Perhaps he'll be there when
we get home."

But The Mackhai was not back, and a fortnight elapsed, and still he was
away.

The last few days seemed to have quite restored Kenneth, who, once able
to be out o