Three Boys | Page 2

old
porridge for breakfast. Give me some of that salmon, Ken. No; I'll have
a kipper."
"More coffee, please, father," said Ken, with his mouth full. "Have a
scone, father? They're prime."
"Gently with the butter, my boy. There is such a thing as bile."
"Is there, father?" said Kenneth, who was spreading the rich yellow
churning a full quarter of an inch thick.
"Is there, sir! Yes, there is. As I know to my cost. Ah!" he added, with a

sigh, and his face wrinkled and made him look ten years older; "but
there was a time when I did not know the meaning of the word!"
"Oh, I say, father," cried Kenneth merrily, "don't! You're always
pretending to be old, and yet you can walk me down stalking, and Long
Shon says you can make him sore-footed any day."
"Nonsense! nonsense!" said The Mackhai, smiling.
"Oh, but you can, father!" said Kenneth, with his mouth full. "And see
how you ran with that salmon yesterday, all among the stones."
"Ah, yes! I manage to hold my own; but I hope you'll husband your
strength better than I did, my boy," said The Mackhai, with a sigh.
"I only hope I shall grow into such a fine man!" cried Kenneth, with his
face lighting up, as he gazed proudly at his father. "Why, Donald
says--"
"Tut, tut, tut! Silence, you miserable young flatterer! Do you want to
make your father conceited? There, that will do."
"Coming fishing to-day, father?"
There was no answer.
The Mackhai had taken up a letter brought in that morning by one of
the gillies, and was frowning over it as he re-read its contents, and then
sat thoughtfully gazing out of the window across the glittering sea, at
the blue mountains in the distance, tapping the table with his fingers the
while.
"Wonder what's the matter!" thought Kenneth. "Some one wants some
money, I suppose."
The boy's face puckered up a little as he ceased eating, and watched his
father's face, the furrows in the boy's brow giving him a wonderful
likeness to the keen-eyed, high-browed representative of a fine old
Scottish clan.

"Wish I had plenty of money," thought Kenneth; and he sighed as he
saw his father's face darken.
Not that there was the faintest sign of poverty around, for the room was
tastily furnished in good old style; the carpet was thick, a silver
coffee-pot glistened upon the table, and around the walls were goodly
paintings of ancestral Mackhais, from the bare-armed, scale-armoured
chief who fought the Macdougals of Lome, down to Ronald Mackhai,
who represented Ross-shire when King William sat upon the throne.
"I can't help myself," muttered The Mackhai at last. "Here, Ken, what
were you going to do to-day?"
"I was going up the river after a salmon."
"Not to-day, my boy. Here, I've news for you. Mr Blande, my London
solicitor, writes me word that his son is coming down--a boy about
your age."
"Son--coming down? Did you invite him, father?"
"Eh? No: never mind that," said The Mackhai hastily. "Coming down
to stay with us a bit. Regular London boy. Not in very good health.
You must be civil to him, Ken, and show him about a bit."
"Yes, father," said Kenneth, who felt from his father's manner that the
coming guest was not welcome.
"He is coming by Glasgow, and then by the Grenadier. His father
thinks the sea will do him good. Go and meet him."
"Yes, father."
"Tell them to get a room ready for him."
"Yes, father."
"Be as civil to him as you can, and--Pah!"

That ejaculation, pah! came like an angry outburst, as The Mackhai
gave the table a sharp blow, and rose and strode out of the room.
Kenneth sat watching the door for a few moments.
"Father's savage because he's coming," said Kenneth, whose eyes then
fell upon a glass dish of marmalade, and, cutting a goodly slice of
bread, he spread it with the yellow butter, and then spooned out a
portion of the amber-hued preserve.
"Bother the chap! we don't want him here."
Pe-au, pe-au, came a wailing whistle through the open window.
"Ah, I hear you, old whaupie, but I can do it better than that," said
Kenneth to himself, as he repeated the whistle, in perfect imitation of
the curlews which abounded near.
The whistle was answered, and, with a good-tempered smile on his face,
Kenneth rose from the table, after cutting another slice of bread, and
laying it upon that in his plate, so as to form a sticky sandwich.
"Scood!" he cried from the window, and barelegged Scoodrach, who
was seated upon a rock right below, with the waves splashing his feet,
looked up and showed his white teeth.
"Catch!"
"All right."
Down went the