Three Boys | Page 5

the loose grey hairs on the top, he planted his four feet widely apart,
and barked furiously, changing his appealing whines to growls of
defiance.
"You shall not frighten him," said Scood, showing his teeth.

"I'll let you see," cried Kenneth. "Here, you, Sneeshing, be off! home!"
There was a furiously defiant roulade of barks.
"Do you hear, sir? Go home!"
A perfect volley of barks.
Bang!
Kenneth fired over the dog.
"You shall not frighten him," said Scoodrach again.
He was quite right, for the shot seemed to madden the dog, who came
to the very edge of the rock, barking, snarling, leaping up with all four
legs off the rock at once, dashing to and fro, and biting at the scraps of
lichen and seaweed.
"She says you're a coward, and don't dare do it again," cried Scoodrach,
grinning.
"Does he? Then we'll see," cried Kenneth, firing again in the air.
"I told you so," cried Scoodrach. "Look at him. She'd bite you if you
wass near."
"For two pins I'd give him a good peppering," grumbled Kenneth,
slipping a couple of cartridges into the gun, and laying it down.
"Not you," said Scood, stepping the mast, Kenneth helping him with
the stays, and to hoist a couple of sails. Then the rudder was hooked on,
and, as the rapid current bore them out beyond the point, the wind filled
the sails, the boat careened over, the water rattled beneath her bows,
and, as the little vessel seemed to stand still, the beautiful panorama of
rocky, tree-adorned shore glided by, Sneeshing's furious barking
growing more distant, and dying right away.
CHAPTER THREE.

THE GUEST FROM LONDON.
It was well on in the afternoon when Scoodrach, who was lying upon
his chest with his chin resting on the boat's gunwale, suddenly
exclaimed,--
"There she is."
The sun was shining down hotly, there was not a breath of air, and
Kenneth, who seemed as languid as the drooping sails, slowly turned
his head round to look at a cloud of smoke which appeared to be
coming round a distant point of land.
Hours had passed since they sailed away from Dunroe, and for a time
they had had a favourable wind; then it had drooped suddenly, leaving
the sea like glass, and the boat rising and falling softly upon the swell.
There had been nothing to shoot but gulls, which, knowing they were
safe, had come floating softly round, looking at them with inquiring
eyes, and then glided away. They had gazed down through the water at
the waving tangle, and watched the shoals of glistening young fish.
They had whistled for wind, but none had come, and then, as they lay
in the boat at the mercy of the swift tide, the hot hours of the noontide
had glided by, even as the current which bore them along the shore,
helpless unless they had liked to row, and that they had not liked to do
upon such a glowing day.
"I don't believe that's she," said Kenneth lazily. "That's the cargo boat.
Grenadier must have gone by while you were asleep."
"While she wass what?" cried Scood sharply. "Haven't been to sleep."
"Yes, you have. You snored till the boat wobbled."
"She didn't. She never does snore. It wass you."
"All right. Dessay it was," said Kenneth, yawning. "Oh, I say, Scood,
I'm getting so hungry, and we can't get back."

"Yes, we can. We shall have to row."
"I'm not going to row all those miles against tide, I can tell you."
"Very well. We shall have to wait."
"I can't wait. I want my dinner."
"It is the Grenadier!" cried Scood, after a long look. "I can see her red
funnel."
"You can't at this distance."
"Yes, I can. The sun's shining on it; and there's the wind coming."
"How do you know?"
"Look at the smoke. We shall get home by six."
"But I'm hungry now. I shall have to shoot something to eat. I say,
Scood, why shouldn't I shoot you?"
"Don't know," said Scoodrach, grinning.
"Wonder whether you'd be tough."
"Wait and eat him," said Scood, grinning.
"Eat whom?"
"The London laddie."
Kenneth, in his idle, drowsy fit, had almost forgotten the visitor, and he
roused up now, and gazed earnestly at the approaching cloud of smoke,
for the steamer was quite invisible.
"It is the Grenadier," said Kenneth; "and she's bringing the wind with
her."

"Shouldn't say she," muttered Scood.
"Yes, I should, stupid. Ships are shes."
"Said you'd kick me if I said `she,'" muttered Scood.
"So I will if you call me `she.' I'm not a ship. Hurrah! Here's the wind
at last."
For the mainsail began to shiver slightly, and the glassy water to send
forth scintillations instead of one broad silvery gleam.
Kenneth