call you Max,--you don't mind climbing up here again, do you?"

"Is there no other way?"

"Yes."

"Let's go, then."

"There are two other ways," said Kenneth: "to jump in and swim round to
the sands."

"Ah!"

"And for Scood and me to go up and fetch a rope and let it down. Then
you'll sit in a loop, and we shall haul you up, while you spin round
like a roast fowl on a hook, and the bottle-jack up above going click."

"I think I can climb up," said Max, who was very sensitive to ridicule;
and he climbed, but with all the time a creepy sensation attacking him--
a feeling of being sure to fall over the side and plunge headlong into
the sea, while, at the last point, where the great stone projected a
little over the climbers' heads, the sensation seemed to culminate.

But Max set his teeth in determination not to show his abject fear, and
the next moment he was on the top, feeling as if he had gone through
more perils during the past eight-and-forty hours than he had ever
encountered in his life.

"Look out!" cried Kenneth suddenly.

"Why? What?"

"It's only the dogs; and if Bruce leaps at you, he may knock you off the
cliff."

Almost as he spoke, the great staghound made a dash at Max, who avoided
the risk by leaping sideways, and getting as far as he could from the
unprotected brink.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

SHON AND TAVISH.

The hearty breakfast of salmon steaks, freshly-caught herrings,
oat-cakes, and coffee, sweetened by the seaside appetite, seemed to
place matters in a different light. The adventure in the cave that
morning was rough, but Kenneth was merry and good-tempered, and ready to
assure his new companion that it was for his good. Then, too, the
bright sunshine, the glorious blue of the sea, and the invigorating
nature of the air Max breathed, seemed to make everything look more
cheerful.

Before they took their places at the table, the stony look of the Scotch
butler was depressing; so was the curt, distant "Good morning, Mr
Blande," of The Mackhai, who hardly spoke afterwards till toward the end
of the meal, but read his newspaper and letters, leaving his son to
carry on the conversation.

"I say, Grant, aren't there any hot scones this morning?"

"No, sir," said the butler, in an ill-used whisper.

"Why not?"

"The cook says she can't do everything without assistance."

"Then she ought to get up earlier--a lazy old toad! It was just as bad
when there was a kitchen-maid."

Th