"Coming fishing to-day, father?" There was no answer. The Mackhai had taken up a letter brought in that morning by one of the gillies, and was frowning over it as he re-read its contents, and then sat thoughtfully gazing out of the window across the glittering sea, at the blue mountains in the distance, tapping the table with his fingers the while. "Wonder what's the matter!" thought Kenneth. "Some one wants some money, I suppose." The boy's face puckered up a little as he ceased eating, and watched his father's face, the furrows in the boy's brow giving him a wonderful likeness to the keen-eyed, high-browed representative of a fine old Scottish clan. "Wish I had plenty of money," thought Kenneth; and he sighed as he saw his father's face darken. Not that there was the faintest sign of poverty around, for the room was tastily furnished in good old style; the carpet was thick, a silver coffee-pot glistened upon the table, and around the walls were goodly paintings of ancestral Mackhais, from the bare-armed, scale-armoured chief who fought the Macdougals of Lome, down to Ronald Mackhai, who represented Ross-shire when King William sat upon the throne. "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.