Macleod was nothing loath.

There were but few people in the Gardens on this afternoon, for all the
world was up at the Eton and Harrow cricket-match at Lord's, and there
was little visible of 'Arry and his pipe. Macleod began to show more
than a school boy's delight over the wonders of this strange place. That
he was exceedingly fond of animals--always barring the two he had
mentioned--was soon abundantly shown. He talked to them as though the
mute inquiring eyes could understand him thoroughly. When he came to
animals with which he was familiar in the North, he seemed to be
renewing acquaintance with old friends--like himself, they were
strangers in a strange land.

"Ah," said he to the splendid red deer, which was walking about the
paddock with his velvety horns held proudly in the air, "what part of
the Highlands have you come from? And wouldn't you like now a canter
down the dry bed of a stream on the side of Ben-an-Sloich?"

The hind, with slow and gentle step, and with her nut-brown hide shining
in the sun, came up to the bars, and regarded him with those large,
clear, gray-green eyes--so different from the soft dark eyes of the
roe--that had long eyelashes on the upper lid. He rubbed her nose.

"And wouldn't you rather be up on the heather, munching the young grass
and drinking out of the burn?"

They went along to the great cage of the sea-eagles. The birds seemed to
pay no heed to what was passing immediately around them. Ever and anon
they jerked their heads into an attitude of attention, and the golden
brown eye with its contracted pupil and stern upper lid, seemed to be