“A curious thing happened after Alan and I went back to our camp in Glenbristle last Friday,” James Buchanan was saying. “While we were talking to you, Miss Royde….”

“As we’ve all gone so far with Christian names,” Carrie put in, “I don’t see why you have to call Myrtle Miss Royde, James.”

“That’s a matter for Miss Royde to decide, Mistress Royde … I should say Carrie,” said the lawyer.

“Oh, James, I’d adore to have you call me Myrtle. But go on with your story. What happened when you went back to your camp?”

“We found somebody had walked off with our tents.”

“Good gracious, what did you do?” Myrtle asked.

“There was nothing we could do except take the rest of our equipment up to this cave.”

“Say it, Alan.”

“Uaimh na laoigh.”

Myrtle gave a little laugh of delight deep in her throat as the coo of a dove.

“I’ll just have to learn Gaelic,” she cried.

Carrie felt that her hair was brightening to the red in the Macmillan tartan, but she controlled herself admirably and said how much she should enjoy doing exercises in Gaelic Without Tears with Myrtle.

“Is Gaelic a good language for love?” Myrtle was asking now.

“The emotional variety is rich—very rich,” Alan informed her.

“What is ‘I love you’?”

“Tha gaoil agam ort.”

“Oh, another nice clarinet noise? And what’s ‘kiss’?”

“Pog.”

Myrtle blinked.

“I don’t think that’s quite so good. Do you think that’s quite so good, Carrie?”

“I guess no nation thinks any other nation’s word for kiss is quite so good,” her sister-in-law replied, with that in her voice which made James Buchanan hastily return to the tale of the vanished tents.

“We thought your friend Mr MacDonald of Ben Nevis must have taken them,” he said darkly. “I was waiting for him to come along and try to shake me. Ah, I’d have liked fine for him to come along and try to shake me.”

“Oh, I don’t think the disappearance of your tents had anything to do with Ben Nevis,” said Carrie. “I guess a dog must have been nosing around and gone off with them.”

“A dog go off with two canvas tents?” James exclaimed. “No dog could go off with even one. They’re awkward things for a body to carry, leave alone a dog.”

“Oh, they’re awkward, are they?” Carrie asked, her greenish eyes innocent as water.

“Alan and I were so sure your wild laird had taken them that if we had not thought it would make it a bit awkward for you we would have gone to the Castle and asked what the blazes he thought he was playing at.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t bother to do that,” said Carrie quickly. “You wouldn’t bother to do that, would you, Myrtle?”

“No, indeed I wouldn’t,” Myrtle urged. “He is so very violent, he really is.”