ter Kenneth?"

"Yes, all right, Tavish; I only wanted my friend to see how big you
are."

"Ah, it's no great thing to be so big, sir," said the great forester,
slowly subsiding, and doubling himself up till he was once more in
reasonable compass on the block. "It makes people think ye can do so
much wark, and a man has a deal to carry on two legs."

"Tavish is afraid of the work," grumbled Shon. "I did all these up
mysel'."

"An' why not?" said the great forester, in a low, deep growl. "She
found the deer for the Chief yester, and took the horns when he'd shot
'em and prought 'em hame as a forester should."

"Never mind old Shon, Tavish. Look here, what are you going to do
to-day?"

"Shust rest hersel' and smock her pipe."

"No; come along with us, Tav. I want my friend here to catch a salmon."

"Hey! she'll come," said the forester, in a low voice which sounded like
human thunder, and, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, he stuck the
stem inside his sock beside the handle of a little knife, but started
slightly, for the bowl burnt his leg, and he snatched it out and thrust
it in the goatskin pocket that hung from his waistband.

"And Scood and me are to be left to get off these boxes!" cried Shon
angrily.

"No, you'll have to do it all yourself, Shon," said Kenneth, laughing;
"Scood's coming along with us."

"Scood--die!" he shouted as soon as he was outside, and there was an
answering yell, followed by the pat pat of footsteps as the lad came
running up.

Tavish bent down as if he were going to crawl as he came out of the
door.

"Why, you stoop like an old goose coming out of a barn, Tavvy," cried
Kenneth, laughing. "How particular you are over that old figurehead of
yours."

"Well, she's only got one head, Master Kenneth; and plows on the top are
not coot for a man."

"Never mind, come along. Here, Scood, get two rods and the basket.
You'll find the fly-book and the gaff on the shelf."

"I have a fishing-rod--a new one," said Max excitedly.

"Oh! ah! so you have," replied Kenneth. "Never mind, we'll try that
another day. Can you throw a fly?"

"I think so," said Max dubiously. "I never tried, though."

The big forester stared down at him, as he drew a blue worsted cap of
the kind known as Glengarry from his waist, where it had been hanging to
the handle of a hunting-knife or dirk, and, as he slowly put it on over
his shaggy brown hair, his fine eyes once more seemed to laugh.

"H