"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 seized the tiller, and the next minute they were gliding through
the water, trying how near the duck-shaped boat would sail to the wind.

For the next half-hour they were tacking to and fro right in the course
of the coming steamer, till, judging their distance pretty well, sail
was lowered, oars put out, and they rowed till the faces which crowded
the forward part of the swift boat were plain to see. Soon after, while
the cloud of smoke seemed to have become ten times more black, and the
cloud of gulls which accompanied the steamer by contrast more white, the
paddles ceased churning up the clear water and sending it astern in
foam, a couple of men in blue jerseys stood ready to throw a rope, which
Scood caught, and turned round the thwart forward, and Kenneth stood up,
gazing eagerly at the little crowd by the paddle-box.

"How are you, captain?"

"How are you, squire?"

"Any one for us?"

"Yes. Young gent for Dunroe," said a man with a gold-braided cap.

"Where is he?"

"Here just now. Here's his luggage," said one of the men in blue
jerseys. "There he is."

"Now then, sir! Look alive, please."

"But--"

"This way, sir."

"Must I--must I get down?--that small boat!"

Kenneth stared at the pallid-looking youth, who stood shrinking back,
almost in wonder, as the visitor clung to the gangway rail, and gazed in
horror at the boat dancing in the foaming water.

"Ketch hold