But do you think the Laird is to be put off his story by any such suggestion? We can see by his face that he has an anecdote to fire off; is it not apparent that his mention of whiskey was made with a purpose? "There was a real good one," says he—and the laughter is already twinkling in his eyes, "about the man that was apologising before his family for having been drinking whiskey with some friends. ’Ay,’ says he, ’they just held me and forced it down my throat.’ Then says his son—a little chap about ten—says he, ’I think I could ha’ held ye mysel’, feyther’—ho! ho! ho!’ says he, ’I think I could ha’ held ye mysel’, feyther;’" and the Laird laughed, and laughed again, till the tears came into his eyes. We could see that he was still internally laughing at that good one when we went below for luncheon. At luncheon, too, the Laird quite made up his feud with Angus Sutherland, for he had a great many other good ones to tell about whiskey and whiskey drinking; and he liked a sympathetic audience. But this general merriment was suddenly dashed by an ominous suggestion coming from our young Doctor. Why, he asked, should we go on fighting against these northerly winds? Why not turn and run before them? "Then you want to leave us, Angus," said his hostess reproachfully. "Oh, no," he said, and with some colour in his face. "I don’t want to go, but I fear I must very soon now. However, I did not make that suggestion on my own account; if I were pressed for time, I could get somewhere where I could catch the _Clansman_." Mary Avon looked down, saying nothing. "You would not leave the ship like that," says his hostess. "You would not run away, surely? Rather than that we will turn at once. Where are we now?" "If the breeze lasts, we will get over to Uist, to Loch na Maddy, this evening, but you must not think of altering your plans on my account. I made the suggestion because of what Captain John was saying." "Very well," says our Admiral of the Fleet, taking no heed of properly constituted authority. "Suppose we set out on our return voyage to-morrow morning, going round the other side of Skye for a change. But you know, Angus, it is not fair of you to run away when you say yourself there is nothing particular calls you to London." "Oh," says he, "I am not going to London just yet. I am going to Banff, to see my father. There is an uncle of mine, too, on a visit to the manse." "Then you will be coming south again?" "Yes." "Then why not come another cruise with us on your way back?" It was not like this hard-headed young Doctor to appear so embarrassed. "That is what I should like very much myself," he stammered, "if—if I were not in the way of your other arrangements." "We shall make no other arrangements," says the other definitely. "Now that is a promise, mind. No drawing back. Mary will put it down in writing, and hold you to it." Mary Avon had not looked up all this time.