Three Boys | Page 8

the land. "Wind's getting
up beautifully."
"Getting up?"
"Yes. Blow quite a little gale to-night, I'll be bound."
"Is--is there any danger?"
"Oh, I don't know. We get a wreck sometimes--don't we, Scood?"
"Oh ay, very fine wrecks sometimes, and plenty of people trowned!"
"You mean wrecks of ships?"
"Yes; and boats too, like this--eh, Scood?"
"Oh yes; poats like this are often wrecked, and go to the pottom," said
Scood maliciously.
There was a dead silence in the boat, during which Kenneth and Scood
exchanged glances, and their tired companion clutched the seat more
tightly.
"I say, your name's Blande, isn't it?" said Kenneth suddenly.
"Yes; Maximilian--I mean Max Blande."

"And you are going to stay with us?"
"I suppose so."
The lad gave his tormentor a wistful look, but it had no effect.
"Long?"
"I don't know. My father said I was to come down here. Is it much
farther on?"
"Oh yes, miles and miles yet. We shall soon show you the Grey Mare's
Tail now."
"Couldn't we walk the rest of the way, then?"
"Walk! No. Could we, Scood?"
"No, we couldn't walk," said the lad addressed; "and who'd want to
walk when we've got such a peautiful poat?"
There was another silence, during which the boat rushed on, with
Kenneth trickily steering so as to make their way as rough as possible,
both boys finding intense enjoyment in seeing the pallid, frightened
looks of their guest, and noting the spasmodic starts he gave whenever
a little wave came with a slap against the bows and sprinkled them.
"I say, who's your father?" said Kenneth suddenly.
"Mr Blande of Lincoln's Inn. You are Mr Mackhai's son, are you not?"
"I am The Mackhai's son," cried Kenneth, drawing himself up stiffly.
"Yes; there's no Mr Mackhai here," cried Scoodrach fiercely. "She's the
Chief."
"She isn't, Scood. Oh, what an old dummy you are!"
"Well, so she is the chief."

"So she is! Ah, you! Look here, you, Max Blande: my father's the Chief
of the Clan Mackhai."
"Is he? Is it much further, to the grey mare's stable?" faltered the
passenger.
The two boys roared with laughter, Max gazing from one to the other
rather pitifully.
"Did I say something very stupid?" he asked mildly.
"Yes, you said stable," cried Kenneth, wiping his eyes. "I say, Scood,
wait till he sees the Grey Mare."
"Yes; wait till she sees the Grey Mare," cried Scood, bending double
with mirth.
Max drew in a long breath, and gazed straight before him at the sea,
and then to right and left of the fiord through which they were rapidly
sailing. He saw the shore some three miles away on their left, and a
couple to their right, a distance which they were reducing, as the boat,
with the wind well astern, rushed on.
"It's too bad to laugh at you," said Kenneth, smoothing the wrinkles out
of his face.
"I don't know what I said to make you laugh," replied Max, with a
piteous look.
"Then wait till you see the Grey Mare's Tail, and you will."
"I don't think I want to see it. I would rather you set me ashore, and let
me walk."
"Didn't I tell you that you couldn't walk home? Besides, every one goes
to see the Grey Mare's Tail--eh, Scood?"
There was a nod and a mirthful look which troubled the visitor, who sat
with his face contracted, and a spasm seeming to run through him

every time the boat made a leap and dive over some wave.
They were running rapidly now toward a huge mass of rock, which ran
gloomy looking and forbidding into the sea, evidently forming one of
the points of a bay beyond. The mountains came here very close to the
sea, and it was as if by some convulsion of nature the great buttress
had been broken short off, leaving a perpendicular face of rock, along
whose narrow ledges grey and black birds were sitting in scores.
"See the birds?" cried Kenneth, as they sped on rapidly, Max gaining a
little confidence as he found that the boat did not go right over from the
pressure of the wind on the sail.
"Are those birds?" he said.
"Yes; gulls and cormorants and puffins. Did you feed Macbrayne's
pigeons as you came along?"
"No," said Max quietly; "I did not see them."
"Oh, come, I know better than that. Didn't you come up Loch Fyne in
the Columba?"
"The great steamer? Yes."
"Well, didn't you see a large flock of grey gulls flying with you all the
way?"
"Oh yes, and some people threw biscuits to them. They were like a
great grey and white cloud."
"Well, I call them Macbrayne's pigeons."
"Are we going ashore here?" said Max eagerly, as they