"Oh, is it dead? Have you killed it? But it's horrid, you know--quite horrible! A big strong man like you, and that poor little fish--"

"Not little at all! It's a good six-pounder," protested the fisherman, quick to defend his sport against depreciation. "No--he's not dead yet, but he soon will be. I will just--"

"Wait! Wait! Let me get out of the way." Margot flew with her fingers in her ears, then pulled them out to cry--"Is it done? Is it over? Can I come back?"

"Yes; it is all right. I've put him in my bag. You will appreciate him better in his table guise. I'll take him back as a peace-offering to Mrs McNab, for her own evening meal. We have already had our share at the pic--"

Suddenly his hands fell to his sides, he straightened himself, and turned his eyes upon her, filled with puzzle and dismay.

"The pic--"

"--Nic!" concluded Margot faintly. Rosy red were her cheeks; a weight as of lead pressed on her eyelids, dragging them down, down, beneath his gaze. "I--I--_forgot_! We were to have gone to find them! Do you suppose they are--hiding still?"

He laughed at that, though in somewhat discomfited fashion.

"Rather not! Given us up long ago. It must be getting on for an hour.

I can't think how I came to forget--"

Margot glanced at him shyly beneath her curling lashes.

"It was the fish! A fisherman can't be expected to remember anything when he is landing a trout!" she suggested soothingly. Nevertheless she remembered with a thrill of joy that his forgetfulness had dated back to a time when there had been no fish in prospect. "Do you suppose they have gone home?"

"We will go and see. From that mound over there we can overlook the path to the inn. Perhaps we had better keep a little in the background!

It would be as well that they should not see us, if they happened to look up--"

If it were possible to feel a degree hotter, Margot felt it at that moment, as she followed George Elgood up the little hillock to the right, and, pausing just short of the top, peered stealthily around. A simultaneous exclamation broke from both lips; simultaneously they drew back, and crouched on their knees to peer over the heather.

There they went!--straggling in a row in the direction of the inn, the party of revellers who had been so basely deserted.

First, the clergyman, with his hands clasped behind his back, his head bent in thought; a pensive reveller, this, already beginning to repent a heavy, indigestible meal; next, Mrs Macalister, holding her skirts in characteristic fashion well up in front and sweeping the ground behind; a pace or two in the rear, her spouse, showing depression and weariness in every line of his body. Yet farther along the two young men carrying the empty hampers; last of all, at quite a little distance from the rest, the figure of the Chieftain stepping out with a tread even more conspicuously jaunty than usual, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, his head turned from side to side, as if curiously scanning the hillsides.

At one and the same moment Margot and the Editor ducked their heads, and scrambled backwards for a distance of two or three yards. There was a moment's silence, then instinctively their eyes met. Margot pressed her lips tightly together, George Elgood frowned, but it was all in vain; no power on earth could prevent the mischievous dimples from dipping in her cheeks; no effort could hide the twinkle in his eyes--they buried their heads in their hands, and shook with laughter!

When at last composure was regained, George Elgood pulled his watch from his pocket, glanced at the time, and cried eagerly--

"There is still an hour before we need be back for dinner. As well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. Let us go back to the river, and try our luck once more!"

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

A TELEGRAM.

It was a very shamefaced Margot who made her appearance at the dinner- table that evening; but, to her unspeakable relief, she found that there was no cause for embarra.s.sment. Instead of the meaning glances and joking remarks which she had dreaded, she was greeted with the ordinary kindly prosaic welcome, and not even Mrs Macalister herself ventured an innuendo. The Chieftain was the only one who alluded to the non- appearance of the searchers, and the manner in which he did so was a triumph of the commonplace.

"Muddled up that hide-and-seek finely, didn't we?" he cried cheerily.

"Afraid you had all your trouble for nothing. I happened to catch a glimpse of you heading off in the wrong direction, so turned into 'It'

myself, and rooted them all out of their lairs. Then we played some sensible, middle-aged, sitting-down games, and strolled home in time for a siesta before dinner. Very good picnic, I call it. Great success!

We'll have another, one of these fine days."

"'Deed yes, and we will!" a.s.sented Mrs Macalister genially. "It stirs a body up to have an outing now and then. I was thinking, why shouldn't we drive over to B-- and see the old castle and all the sights? I've been hankering to go ever since we arrived; but it mounts up when you drive about by yourselves. If we shared two carriages between us, it would make all the difference, and it seems foolish-like to be in a neighbourhood and not see what there is to be seen. You can get carriages from Rew, they tell me, if you order them a day or two before."

To the amazement of the company, it was George Elgood of all others who hastened to second the proposal.

"A capital idea!" he cried. "B-- is one of the finest old ruins in Scotland. Of course we must go; it would be worse than foolish to go home without seeing it. I have been before, so I could act as guide, and those who possess cameras had better take them also, as the place is rich in subjects."

The clergyman and his son p.r.i.c.ked up their ears at this, photography being with them only a degree less absorbing a pastime than that of walking; Ron awoke suddenly to the remembrance that his half-plate camera had never been unpacked since his arrival; and the three vied with each other in asking questions about the proposed excursion, and in urging that a date should be fixed. Before the meal had come to a conclusion, plans were mapped out, and a division of labour made, by which one person was held responsible for the hiring of carriages, another for the promised food, while George Elgood was left to arrange the plan of campaign.

"We are a happy family, we are, we are, we are!" hummed the Chieftain, under his breath, as he cast a twinkling glance across the table to where Margot sat, as demure to outward seeming as she was excited at heart.

"Why do you avoid me?" he demanded of her plumply, the next morning, when, after several unsuccessful attempts, he ran her to earth by the side of the tarn. "Scurry out of my way like a frightened bunny whenever I come along. Won't do, you know! Not going to trouble myself to do you good turns, if you round on me afterwards, and avoid me as if I were the plague. What's it all about?"

"Nothing," stammered Margot confusedly. "I only felt rather-- You _do_ tease, you know, and your eyes twinkle so mischievously that I felt that discretion was the better part of valour."

"Well, don't do it again then, that's all, or I may turn rusty and upset the apple-cart. No reason that I know of why I should be ostracised, because I try to help my fellow-creatures. What are you doing over here? Reading? What a waste of time! Much better come and chuck stones into the lake with me."

Margot's brown eyes widened in reproof.

"Don't you like books?"

"Hate the sight of 'em! Especially on a holiday. Never want to see as much as a line of print from the time I leave home to the time I return.

Especially,"--his eyes twinkled in the mischievous manner to which exception had just been taken--"especially poetry! Don't mind my saying so, do you?"

"Not a bit," returned Margot promptly, tossing her first stone into the lake with a vehemence which held more than a suspicion of temper. "Of course I never--one would never--_expect_ you to like it. It would be the last thing one would expect--"

"Too fat?"

She blushed at that, and had the grace to look a trifle distressed.

"Oh, not that altogether. It's a '_Je ne sais quoi_,' don't you know.

One could tell at a glance that you were not a literary man."

The Chieftain chuckled, bent down to gather a handful of stones, and raised a red smiling face to hers.

"Well, well, we can't all be geniuses, you know! One in a glen is about as much as you can expect to meet in these hard times. But I can chuck stones with the best of 'em. That one was a good dozen yards beyond your last throw. Put your back into it, and see what you can do. It's a capital way of letting off steam."

Margot was tempted to protest against the accusation, but reflection prompted silence, since after all she _was_ cross, and there was no denying it.

She took the little man's advice, and "let off steam" by the vigour and determination with which she hurled pebbles into the lake, making them skim along the surface in professional manner for an ever longer and longer s.p.a.ce before finally disappearing from sight.

The Chieftain cheered her on with example and precept, and, as usual, irritation died a speedy death in the presence of his bright, cheery personality. While they were still laughing and cheering each other on to fresh exploits, a lad from the post office pa.s.sed along the road, and the Chieftain wheeled round to call out the usual question--

"Anything for me? Is the post in already?"

The lad shook his head. He was a red-headed sociable-looking creature who seemed only too glad to enliven his walk by a chat _en route_. His teeth showed in a cheerful smile as he replied--

"The post willna be here for an hour or mair. It's just a telegram!"

A telegram! It said much for the peaceful seclusion of the Glen that the very sound of the word brought a chill of apprehension to the listening ears. No one received telegrams at the Nag's Head. One and all the visitors had sojourned thither with the aim of getting away as far as possible from the world of telegrams, and electric trams, and tube railways, and all the nerve-shattering inventions of modern life.