rod. We've
caught a wunnerfu' saumon, laddie. She's a gran' fush. There, noo,
we'll get ye oot o' the tangle. What is she, Maister Kenneth--
twa-an'-twenty pun'?"

"Five-and-twenty," cried Kenneth, as Max was deposited on the grass.

"Na, na; twa-an'-twenty pun'. I ken the size," cried Tavish. "Noo,
laddie, stan' still; and you, Scoody, tak' a haud of the reel, and walk
roond and roond till ye get all the line, and wind her up as ye go."

Scood took the reel, and went round, releasing Max from the bonds the
river had thrown about him in rolling him over and over, after which he
forgot his dripping state, and walked to where the salmon lay.

"Ye'll tak' joost a sma' taste, sir, to keep oot ta cold," said the
forester, offering the cup from the bottom of the flask to Max, who
shook his head.

"Mebbe ye're richt," said Tavish, tossing off the spirit; "it's a fine
hailsome trink for a grown man, but--Na, na, Scood, if ye're thirsty,
laddie, there's plenty coot watter in the river."

"Yes, don't give Scoody any," said Kenneth.

"Nay, Maister Kenneth, I winna gie him a taste. Ye'll be takkin' a wee
drap yersel', I'm thenking?"

"Not I, Tavvy. Now then, it's a twenty-five pounder, isn't it?"

Tavish wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, gazing thoughtfully
down at the salmon, after which he laid the butt of one of the
fishing-rods beside it, and compared the captive with a nick on the side
before drawing a piece of knotted string from his sporran, which had to
be taken off and drained, for it was half full of water.

"Nay," he said, as he knelt on one knee, after measuring the girth of
the fish with great deliberation, "I said twa-an'-twenty pun', Maister
Ken, but I'll gie ye anither pun'. She's three-an'-twenty pun' barely."

"Five-and-twenty, Tavvy!"

"Nay, sir, three-an'-twenty, and not an ounce ower, and the laddie's
caught the best fush this year. Noo then, I'm thenking I can show him
where there's anither. Ye'll lend her your rod?"

"Oh yes. Here you are, Max!"

"I think I would rather go home and change my wet things," said Max.

"Nivver mind a drap o' watter, laddie. Watter like this winna gie you
cauld. Have a gude rin, and then--"

"Not to-day, Tav," said Kenneth. "We're all wet through, so let's go
back. Who's going to carry the twenty-five pound salmon?"

"Ta fush weighs three-an'-twenty pun' and nae mair, Maister Kenneth."

"Ah, well, we'll see as soon as we get back," sai