ast, unscrewing the butt of his
rod, broke the line, and flourished the weapon as a cudgel. They all
three leaped into the field one after another, and bore courageously
down on the bull, being well accustomed to deal with animals of the
sort.

Separating as they drew near, they attacked him on three sides at once.
Short work would he have made with any of them singly; together they
were more than his match. When he charged Junkie, Archie ran in and
brought the stake down on his skull. When he turned on his assailant,
Eddie combed his sides with the rake. Dashing at the new foe he was
caught by the tail by Junkie, who applied the butt of his rod
vigorously, the reel adding considerable weight to his blows. At last
the bull was cowed--if we may venture to say so--and driven
ignominiously into a corner of the field, where he vented his rage on
the remnants of the umbrella, while the victors returned to the field of
battle.

"But what's come of MacRummle?" said the panting Junkie as they gathered
up the fish and replaced them in the basket. "I never saw him get over
the wall. Did you?"

"No," replied Archie, looking round in surprise.

"I dare say he ran off while we were thumpin' the bull," suggested
Eddie.

"I'm here, boys! I'm here, Junkie," cried a strange sepulchral voice,
as if from the bowels of the earth.

"Where?" asked the boys gazing down at their feet with expressions of
awe.

"He's i' the drain!" cried Junkie with an expanding mouth.

"Ay--that's it! I'm in the drain! Lend a hand, boys; I can hardly
move."

They ran to him instantly, but it required the united powers of all
three to get him out, and when they succeeded he was found to be coated
all over one side with thick mud.

"What a muddle you've made of yourself, to be sure!" exclaimed Junkie.
"Let me scrape you."

But MacRummle refused to be scraped until they had placed the five-foot
wall between himself and the black bull. Then he submitted with a
profound sigh.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

PECULIAR INCIDENTS OF A SABBATH AMONG THE WESTERN ISLES.

One beautiful Sunday morning while the party assembled in Kinlossie
House was at breakfast, a message was brought to the laird that he "wass
wantit to speak wi' the poy Tonal'."

"Well, Donald, my lad, what want ye with me this fine morning?" asked
the laird, on going out to the hall.

"I wass telt to tell ye the'll be no kirk the day, for the minister's
got to preach at Drumquaich