shove behind,
Mr Barret--gently--there. Thankee."

The old man sat down with something of a crash beside his friend.
Barret handed him his rod, put the basket under his feet, and sprang up
on the seat behind.

Returning at a swift pace by the road they had come, they soon reached
Kinlossie, where the laird drove into the back yard, so as to deliver
the still dripping MacRummle at the back door, and thus prevent his
leaving a moist track from the front hall to his bedroom. Having got
rid of him, and given the dog-cart in charge to the groom, Mr Gordon
led his young friend round to the front of the house.

"I see your friends have already arrived," said the laird, pointing to
the waggonette which stood in the yard. "No doubt we shall find them
about somewhere."

They turned the corner of the mansion as he spoke, and certainly did
come on Barret's friends, in circumstances, however, which seemed quite
unaccountable at first sight, for there, in front of the open door, were
not only Bob Mabberly, Giles Jackman, Skipper McPherson, James McGregor,
Pat Quin, and Robin Tips, but also Mrs Gordon, the two boy Gordons--
named respectively, Eddie and Junkie--Duncan, the butler, and little
Flora, with a black wooden doll in her arms, all standing in more or
less awkward attitudes, motionless and staring straight before them as
if petrified with surprise or some kindred feeling.

Barret looked at his host with a slight elevation of his eyebrows.

"Hush!" said the laird, softly, holding up a finger of caution. "My boy
Archie is behind that laurel bush. He's photographing them!"

"That'll do," in a loud voice from Archie, disenchanted the party; and
while the operator rushed off to his "dark closet," the laird hurried
forward to be introduced to the new arrivals, and give them hospitable
greeting.

That evening the host and his wife entertained their guests to a genuine
Highland feast in the trophied hall, and at a somewhat later hour
Duncan, the butler, and Elsie, the cook, assisted by Roderick, the
groom, and Mary, the housemaid, held their share of high revelry in the
kitchen, with Quin, Tips, and "Shames" McGregor.

"You have come to the right place for sport, gentlemen," said the laird,
as he carved with vigour at a splendid haunch of venison. "In their
seasons we have deer and grouse on the hills; rabbits, hares,
partridges, and pheasants on the low grounds. What'll you have, Mr
Mabberly? My dear, what have yo