Three Boys | Page 3

bread and marmalade, which the lad caught in his blue
worsted bonnet, and was about to replace the same upon his curly red
head, but the glutinous marmalade came off on one finger. This sticky
finger he sucked as he stared at the bread, and, evidently coming to the
conclusion that preserve and pomade were not synonymous terms, he
began rapidly to put the sweet sandwich somewhere else.
"I wish you had kept it in your bonnet, Scood."

The boy looked up and laughed, his mouth busy the while.
"Father saw sax saumon in the black pool," he cried eagerly.
"Then they'll have to stop," said Kenneth gloomily.
"Eh?"
"There's a chap coming down from London."
"To fesh?"
"Suppose so. We've got to go and meet him."
"With ta pony?"
"No, the boat; coming by the Grenadier."
"Ou ay."
"It's a great bother, Scood."
"But it's a verra fine mornin' for a sail," said the boy, looking up and
munching away.
"But I didn't want to sail; I wanted to fish."
"The fush can wait, tat she can."
"Oh, you!" shouted Kenneth. "Wish I had something to throw at you."
"If she did, I'd throw it back," said Scoodrach, grinning.
"I should like to catch you at it. There, go and get the boat."
"Plenty of time."
"Never mind that; let's be off and have a good sail first, as we have to
go."

"Will she--will you tak' the gun?"
"Of course I shall. Take the lines too, Scood; we may get a mackerel."
The lad opened his large mouth, tucked in the last piece of marmalade,
and then leaped off the stone on to the rock.
"Scood!"
The boy stroked down his grey kilt, and looked up.
"Put on your shoes and stockings."
"What for?"
"Because I tell you. Because there's company coming. Be off!"
"She's got a big hole in her stocking, and ta shoe hurts her heel."
"Be off and put them on," roared Kenneth from the window. "I shall be
ready in a quarter of an hour."
Scood nodded, and began to climb rapidly over the buttress of rock
which ran down into the sea, the height to which the tide rose being
marked by an encrustation of myriads of acorn barnacles, among which
every now and then a limpet stood out like a boss, while below, in the
clear water, a thick growth of weed turned the rock to a golden brown,
and changed the tint of the transparent water.
CHAPTER TWO.
"A BORE!"
"What a bother!" muttered Kenneth, as he left the dining-room, crossed
the hall, and entered a little oak-panelled place filled with all kinds of
articles used in the chase, and whose walls were dotted with
trophies--red deer and roebucks' heads, stuffed game, wild fowl, a
golden eagle, and a pair of peregrine falcons. He took a double-barrel
from the rack, placed a supply of cartridges in a belt, buckled it on, and

then returned to the oak-panelled hall, to pause where his bonnet hang
over the hilt of an old claymore.
Carelessly putting this on, he sauntered out of the hall into the shingly
path, where he was saluted by a chorus of barking. A great
rough-coated, long-legged deerhound came bounding up, followed first
by a splendid collie with a frill about his neck like a wintry wolf, and
directly after by a stumpy-legged, big-headed, rough grey Scotch terrier,
with a quaint, dry-looking countenance, which seemed like that of
some crotchety old man.
"Hi, Bruce!" cried Kenneth, as the deerhound thrust a pointed nose into
his hand. "What, Dirk, lad!"
This to the collie, which reared up to put its paws upon his chest, and
rubbed its head against its master; while the little dog ran round and
round clumsily, barking all the while.
"Down, Dirk! Quiet, Sneeshing, quiet!"
The dogs were silent on the moment, but followed close at their
master's heels, eyeing the gun wistfully, the deerhound going further,
and snuffing at the lock. Being apparently satisfied that it was not a
rifle, and that consequently his services would not be required, the
hound stopped short by a warm, sheltered place, crouched down, and
formed itself into an ornament upon the sea-washed rock.
"There, you can do the same, Dirk. It's boat day," said Kenneth.
The collie uttered a whine and a loud bark.
"Yes, it's boat day, lad. Be off!"
The dog stopped short, and only the little ugly grey terrier followed his
master, wagging a short stump of a tail the while, till Kenneth noted his
presence.
"No, not to-day," he said sharply.

"Wuph!"
"No. Can't take you. Go back, old chap. Another time!"
Sneeshing uttered a low whine, but he dropped down on the shingle
which took the place of gravel, and Kenneth went slowly on along a
path formed