"The man that told Tom Galbraith," said he, "was a solemn believer, and spoke with reverence. ’M’Kinlay,’ says he, ’he will turn to the street, and he will grab at the four horses and the coach, and he will took them up in his two hands—_shist like a mice_.’" "_Shist like a mice._" The Laird preserved a stern silence. The humour of this story was so desperately occult that he would leave the coarse applause to us. Only there was an odd light in his eyes; and we knew that it was all he could do to prevent his bursting out into a roar of laughter. But Mary Avon laughed—until John of Skye, who had not heard a word, grinned out of pure sympathy. "He must have been the man," said Miss Avon, diffidently—for she did not like to encroach on the Laird’s province—"whom Captain John told me about, who could drink whisky so strong that a drop of it would burn a white mark on a tarred rope." But the Laird was not jealous. "Very good—very good!" he cried, with extreme delight. "Excellent—a real good one! ’Deed I’ll tell that to Tom Galbraith!" And the high spirits and the facetiousness of these two children continued through lunch. That was rather a wild meal, considering that we were still sawing across the boisterous Sound of Jura, in the teeth of a fresh northerly breeze. However, nothing could exceed the devotion of the Youth, who got scarcely any luncheon at all in his efforts to control the antics of pickle jars and to bolster up bottles. Then when everything was secure, there would be an ominous call overhead, "_Stand by forrard, boys!_" followed by a period of frantic revolution and panic. "Yes," continued the Laird, when we got on deck again; "a sense of humour is a great power in human affairs. A man in public life without it is like a ship without a helm: he is sure to go and do something redeeclous that a smaller man would have avoided altogether. Ay, my father’s sense of humour was often said by people to be quite extraordinar’—quite extraordinar’. I make no pretensions that way myself." Here the Laird waved his hand, as if to deprecate any courteous protest. "No, no; I have no pretensions that way; but sometimes a bit joke comes in verra well when ye are dealing with solemn and pretentious asses. There is one man in Strathgovan——" But here the Laird’s contempt of this dull person could not find vent in words. He put up both hands, palm outwards, and shook them, and shrugged his shoulders.