of the old tower room."

"No, no, not to-day!" cried Max hastily.

"Oh, you'll have to go," said Kenneth, as the old man kept on waving his
hand imperiously. "Won't he, Scood?"

"Ou ay, she'll have to go and hear ta pipes."

As if angered at the invitation not being accepted, old Donald took a
couple of strides forward into the kitchen.

This was too much for Sneeshing, who leaped up on to his four short
legs, barked furiously, and then, overcome by recollections of the last
air he had heard, he threw up his head so as to straighten his throat,
and gave forth the most miserable howl a dog could utter.

Old Donald shouted something in Gaelic, and made for the dog, which
began to bark and snap at him, and this roused Dirk and Bruce to take
part with him in baying at the old piper, who stopped short, as if
startled at the array of teeth.

The noise was so great that Grant the butler came hurrying in.

"Turn those dogs oot!" he cried. "You, Tonal', what do you want?"

"Ta Southron chiel'," said the old man mysteriously.

"She lo'es ta pipes, and she'll play him ta Mackhai's Mairch."

Turning to Max, he waved him toward the door.

"No, no, not to-day," said Grant, who read the young visitor's
reluctance to go.

"But ta chiel' lo'es ta pipes," cried Donald.

"Then you shall play to him another time."

"Yes, another time, Tonal'. Be off now, and I'll bring ye a wee drappie
by and by," cried Kenneth.

"She'll pring her a wee drappie? Good laddie! She shall pring her a
wee drappie, and she wass nice and try up in the tower, and she wass
make a nice fire."

He made a mysterious sign or two, suggestive of his making a silent
promise to give his young master all the music he had intended for Max,
and went slowly out of the great stone-floored place.

"Noo, send oot the dogs," said Grant; and, to make sure, he did it
himself, a quiet wave of his hand being sufficient to drive them all out
into the yard behind the kitchen.

"She said she should soon pe fine," said Long Shon, as a gleam of
sunshine shot through the window; for the storm was passing over, and
its rearguard, in the form of endless ragged fleecy clouds, could be
seen racing across the blue sky; while, in an hour from then, the sky
was swept clear, and the sun shone out bright and warm.

"Now," cried Kenneth, "let's get the rifles, and go and have a stalk."

"It would jist aboot be madness," said Grant; "and the Chief would be in
a fine way.