e'll catch one, Tavvy, a forty-pounder, eh?" cried Kenneth, giving the
forester a merry look.

"Nay, she shall not catch a fush like that," said the forester.

"Get out! How do you know?" cried Kenneth.

"Oh, she kens that verra weel. She shall not catch the fush till she
knows how."

"We'll see about that," cried Kenneth, catching Max by the arm. "Here,
Tav, you see that Scood gets the rods all right. I want to introduce
Mr Blande to old Donald."

"She will be all retty," said the forester, nodding his head slowly, and
standing gazing after the two lads till they were some yards away, when
he stopped the nodding motion of his head and began to shake it slowly,
with his eyes seeming to laugh more and more.

"She means little cames with the laddie; she means little cames."

CHAPTER EIGHT.

IN THE OLD TOWER.

"Father said I was to make you quite at home, Max," said Kenneth, "so
let's see old Donald before we go. You have been introduced to the cook
by deputy. Come along."

"Who is old Donald--is he a chief?"

"Chief! no. I thought I told you. He's our piper."

"Oh!"

"This way."

Kenneth led his companion back to the great entrance of the ruined
castle, through which gateway Scoodrach had gone in search of the rods.

Tah-tah-tah! cried the jackdaws, as the lads entered the open gloomy
yard, and half a dozen began to fly here and there, while two or three
perched about, and peered inquiringly down first with one eye and then
with the other.

Max looked up at the mouldering walls, with their crevices dotted with
patches of polypody and _ruta muraria_, velvety moss, and flaunting
golden sun ragwort, and wondered whether the place was ever attacked.

"Here's Scood," cried Kenneth, as the lad appeared through the farther
arch, bearing a couple of long rods over his shoulder as if they were
lances for the defence. "Here, we're going up to see Donald. Is he
there?"

"Yes, she heard him as she went to the house."

"All right. You go on to Tavvy. Stop a moment. Go back and get a
flask, and ask Grant to fill it with whisky. Tavvy will want a drop to
christen the first fish."

"She's got it," said Scoodrach, holding up a flask by its strap.

"Did he give you plenty?"

"She asked him, and Master Crant said he wouldn't give me a trop, and
sent me away."

"But, I say--"

"Ta pottle's quite full," said Scood, grinning. "Master Crant sent her
away, so she went rount to the window, and g