w with Yaspard; he can stow you
somewhere, I expect, till the family gets out of bed. You and your
boat may find employment in conveying the Laird of Lunda to his own
island. I have nothing further to say to you, except to warn you not
to make raids upon me again."

"Thank you, sir," said the Mitchell brothers; and Tom added, "It is
more than good of you to let us off so easy; all the same, I wish we
had Fred's sealkie for him. But thank you, Mr. Neeven; and I'm sure if
I can ever do anything for yon, I'll be as pleased as Punch."

Then they were dismissed curtly, but not unkindly; and Gaun Neeven felt
his room to be all the darker and lonelier when the mischief-loving
laddies were gone.

When they got a bit away from the house Harry called a halt. "Look
you," said he, "this is no kind of hour in which to invade a decent
house. Let's go to our boat, and bring her round to Moolapund."

"And say we've come for Fred, as flat as you like," added Tom; "it will
be quite like our impudence."

"And will be true enough," said Yaspard. "Only there is more in it
than that."

"We shan't mind telling your uncle all about it," Tom replied, "if you
don't think it will make a row."

"There won't be any need to tell him at present, and he is bound to
hear it from Mr. Neeven. These two have long confabs every day, and I
just believe--for I've sometimes heard bits of their talk--that they
don't talk science so much as all about the pranks they played when
they were boys. You wouldn't think it, to look at him, but Aunt Osla
says Mr. Neeven was an awful boy."

It was hard to imagine the serious scientist and the melancholy recluse
two restless mischievous boys. The irreverent young rascals amused
themselves till they reached the _Laulie_ with fancy sketches of the
two gentlemen (when they were known merely as Brues and Gaun) getting
into all sorts of ridiculous pickles, until Harry checked the
nonsensical chatter by remarking, "Every man is a boy first, and has to
be a bit of a donkey, with the tricks of a monkey, till he grows up and
gets sense. I hope we will all grow up with half the brains in our
noddles that these two have got."

Bill Mitchell had scarcely spoken a word since the time they were
discovered, but now he said very solemnly, "He's full of brains, that
man! but I'd rather be more empty-headed, and less like a katyogle[3]
that's been sitting on a stone all day with a dozen of undigested
sandyloos[4] and