ne.

"I can't help myself," muttered The Mackhai at last. "Here, Ken, what
were you going to do to-day?"

"I was going up the river after a salmon."

"Not to-day, my boy. Here, I've news for you. Mr Blande, my London
solicitor, writes me word that his son is coming down--a boy about your
age."

"Son--coming down? Did you invite him, father?"

"Eh? No: never mind that," said The Mackhai hastily. "Coming down to
stay with us a bit. Regular London boy. Not in very good health. You
must be civil to him, Ken, and show him about a bit."

"Yes, father," said Kenneth, who felt from his father's manner that the
coming guest was not welcome.

"He is coming by Glasgow, and then by the Grenadier. His father thinks
the sea will do him good. Go and meet him."

"Yes, father."

"Tell them to get a room ready for him."

"Yes, father."

"Be as civil to him as you can, and--Pah!"

That ejaculation, pah! came like an angry outburst, as The Mackhai gave
the table a sharp blow, and rose and strode out of the room.

Kenneth sat watching the door for a few moments.

"Father's savage because he's coming," said Kenneth, whose eyes then
fell upon a glass dish of marmalade, and, cutting a goodly slice of
bread, he spread it with the yellow butter, and then spooned out a
portion of the amber-hued preserve.

"Bother the chap! we don't want him here."

Pe-au, pe-au, came a wailing whistle through the open window.

"Ah, I hear you, old whaupie, but I can do it better than that," said
Kenneth to himself, as he repeated the whistle, in perfect imitation of
the curlews which abounded near.

The whistle was answered, and, with a good-tempered smile on his face,
Kenneth rose from the table, after cutting another slice of bread, and
laying it upon that in his plate, so as to form a sticky sandwich.

"Scood!" he cried from the window, and barelegged Scoodrach, who was
seated upon a rock right below, with the waves splashing his feet,
looked up and showed his white teeth.

"Catch!"

"All right."

Down went the bread and marmalade, which the lad caught in his blue
worsted bonnet, and was about to replace the same upon his curly red
head, but the glutinous marmalade came off on one finger. This sticky
finger he sucked as he stared at the bread, and, evidently coming to the
conclusion that preserve and pomade were not synonymous terms, he began
rapidly to put the sweet sandwich somewhere else.

"I wish you had kept it i