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Updated: June 28, 2025
The lass McKinnon, with the bonny boyish face, stooped to pick up her shawl, and Gilchrist was jumping and shouting. "A bonny catch," he cried "a bonny catch," and at that the boyish lass straightened herself. "The boats ahoy," she cried, "ahoy, the boat; the gaugers are on us." "Stop the bitch," screamed Gilchrist, and sprang at the lass with his fist raised.
We sat down to a meal of roasted fowl, very tasty, and a very good drop of spirits to it, and I would be laughing inside of myself because of the boldness of McKinnon to be praising his wife's cooking before his ain mother, and Mirren was greatly pleased too; indeed, many's the time I will be thinking that the road to a quiet lass's heart will be to praise her cooking.
Dan stepped into the waiting boat in silence, his head on his breast, and a word from McKinnon or me, I think, would have kept him; but we said our farewells, and Alastair set to the sculling, and we watched the receding boat from the shore head until she drew close to the Seagull, and we saw Dan climb on board, and the skiff returning.
McKinnon and Dan lay talking, but I was silent for the most part, thinking of the sword and the armour, and of the people who fashioned the well, and wondering about the old, old bones away through the dark passage into the heart of the hill. The far, far-away stories were in my mind of Finn and his warriors, of his great dogs and his queens.
It was something to see the fellows lay out to it then doubled-banked, two men to each wide seat and each man with a long oar, which he had picked out and trimmed to suit himself, and every man in his own particular place as if in a racing crew. And now every man was bending to it. A big fellow, named Rory McKinnon, was setting the stroke.
There was a thick bit of a wood behind the stackyard at the big house, and as I lay listening to the sounds of the early morning there came often of late this clear melody, not loud but sweet and thrilling, as I had heard Ronny McKinnon whistle and Dan too, and the words of that tune are not to be talked about; but when I went quietly to the planting one morning there was only the little moving of birds in the greyness of the morning and the stillness of the wood.
All through this night we held our course a little to the west of the pole-star, though McKinnon and Dan had travelled the way before. We were now in the middle of the great barren range, frowning mountains menaced our path, and burns rumbled in the darkness; and when Dan spoke his voice was thick with anger "I lifted a snipe o' a man, and I flung him the back of the fire.
Half past three was heard booming from some clock tower on the twelfth day of June, 1913, when Mr. King, the Liberal representative from Somerset, was given the floor in the House of Commons. Mr. King proceeded to make a sensation. He demanded that McKinnon Wood, the House Secretary for Scotland, reveal to the House the secrets of the strange case of Armgaard Karl Graves, German spy.
"There would maybe be some of the boys here coming with us, Angus McKinnon and Guy Hamilton and Pate Currie," says Bryde, "and we could be talking of this place and remembering it when it would be New Year, and telling the old stories again." "Do you know who I think will be coming?" cried Margaret. "I am thinking Hamish will be coming too."
We made our way back by the drove road, Ronny McKinnon and me, and we were silent for the most part, for there was that in my throat to keep me from speaking, for Dan was gone, and no rowing would get him back, and who could get word to him.
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