e called out; "I am
afraid it is too late to take you off."

"Never mind," she answered; "I don't want to go now. There has been
such a disturbance in the house--such a terrific upset. It has made me
laugh and cry--I hardly know which I ought to do now about it."

"An upset!" Yaspard exclaimed. "Praise the powers, as Mam Kirsty says.
I'm glad the humdrum has had a break. What was it, Signy?"

"It was a letter."

"A letter! Was that all?"

"All!" exclaimed the girl; "you won't say a letter is a little 'all'
when you hear what it did. The mailbag came across this afternoon when
we were sitting at the Teng, never thinking!--and uncle got a letter
from the young Laird of Lunda which made him furious. You know what
happens when Uncle Brues is angry."

"I know. I'm glad it does not happen often, poor old man! Well, what
next?"

"He rampaged, and set Aunt Osla off crying. Then he began experiments
with that new chemical machine, and nearly blew up the house. The
windows of his Den are smashed, and you never saw anything like the
mess there is in it--broken glass, books, methylated spirits,
specimens, everything."

"Hurrah!" shouted Yaspard, cutting short Signy's story; "don't tell me
more. Let's go and see."

He fastened up his boat, took his sister's hand, and ran quickly up the
brae to his home.

There indeed was a scene of devastation, as far as the scientist's
study was concerned. It looked as though a volcano had irrupted there:
bookshelves were overturned, chairs and tables were sprawling legs in
air, liquids were oozing in rainbow hues over manuscripts, odours of
the most objectionable kind filled the air. A tame raven was hopping
among the debris, with an eye to choice "remains" dropping from broken
jars; a strange-looking fish was gasping its last breath on the sofa,
among broken fragments of its crystal tank. A huge grey cat was
standing, with her back arched, on the mantelpiece--the only place she
deemed secure--surveying the scene, and ready for instant flight, or
fight, if another explosion seemed imminent.

Pirate was lying at the open door, watching the movements of Thor (the
raven), whose depredatory proclivities were well known to the dog.
Thor, perfectly aware that a detective's eye was upon him, did not
venture to abstract any of the wreckage, but assumed an air of careless
curiosity as he hopped about among Mr. Adiesen's demoralised treasures.

Mr. Adiesen himself had disappea