although very good in their way, they won't do for present necessities.
At least it would ill become me to express my gratitude to such good
friends without offering something more. For myself," he added, filling
and tossing off a glass of whisky, "I'm an old man, and not used to this
kind of work, so I'll be the better of a dram. Besides, the Gordons--my
branch of them, at least--have always taken kindly to mountain dew, in
moderation, of course, in strict moderation!"

There was a quiet laugh at this among some of the men who stood near,
for it was well-known that not a few of the laird's ancestors had taken
kindly to mountain dew without the hampering influence of moderation,
though the good man himself had never been known to "exceed"--in the
Celtic acceptation of that term.

"Are ye laughing, you rascals?" he cried, turning to the group with a
beaming, though blackened countenance. "Come here an' have your share--
as a penalty!"

Nothing loath, the men came forward, and with a quiet word of thanks
each poured the undiluted fiery liquid down his throat, with what the
boy Donald styled a "pech" of satisfaction.

Ivor Donaldson chanced to be one of the group, but he did not come
forward with the rest.

"Come, Ivor, man, and have a dram," said the laird, pouring out a glass.

But the keeper did not move. He stood with his arms crossed firmly on
his broad chest, and a stern dogged expression on his handsome face.

"Ivor, hi!" exclaimed the old gentleman, in a louder voice, supposing
that the man had not heard. "After work like this a dram will do you
good."

"Oo, ay!" remarked one of the shepherds, who had probably began to feel
the "good" by that time; "a tram of whusky iss a fery coot thing at
_all_ times--specially when it is _coot_ whusky!"

At this profound witticism there was a general laugh among the men, in
the midst of which the laird repeated his invitation to Ivor, saying
that he seemed knocked up after his exertions (which was partially
true), and adding that surely he was man enough to take a little for his
good at such a time, without giving way to it.

The laird did not mean this as a taunt, but it was taken as such by the
keeper, who came forward quickly, seized the glass, and drained it.
Having done so he stood for a moment like one awaking from a dream.
Then, without a word of thanks, he dropped the glass, sprang into the
shrubbery, and disappeared.

The laird was surprised, and his