dame, "and it is not of much consequence what boat Sir Keith has, so
long as he comes back to us. And now I think you had better go down to
the quay yourself, and see that the cart is waiting and the boat ready."

But how could old Hamish go down to the quay? He was in his own person
skipper, head keeper, steward, butler, and general major-domo, and ought
on such a day as this to have been in half a dozen places at once. From
the earliest morning he had been hurrying hither and thither, in his
impatience making use of much voluble Gaelic. He had seen the yacht's
crew in their new jersies. He had been round the kennels. He had got out
a couple of bottles of the best claret that Castle Dare could afford. He
had his master's letters arranged on the library table, and had given a
final rub to the guns and rifles on the rack. He had even been down to
the quay, swearing at the salmon-fishers for having so much lumber lying
about the place where Sir Keith Macleod was to land. And if he was to go
down to the quay now, how could he be sure that the ancient Christina,
who was mistress of the kitchen as far as her husband Hamish would allow
her to be, would remember all his instructions? And then the little
granddaughter Christina, would she remember her part in the
ceremony?

However, as Hamish could not be in six places at once, he decided to
obey his mistress's directions, and went hurriedly off to the quay,
overtaking on his way Donald the piper lad, who was apparelled in all
his professional finery.

"And if ever you put wind in your pipes, you will put wind in your pipes
this day, Donald," said he to the red-haired lad. "And I will tell you
now what you will play when you come ashore from the steamer: it is the
'Farewell to Chubraltar' you will play."