The morning of Friday was the finest since the rain started on the day Chester Royde went stalking. Ben Nevis, excited by the prospect of a really brilliant day for the Gathering and the arrival of his eldest son, went barking all over the place with such persistency that his guests retreated to some of the more remote rooms in the Castle, unable to deal with the noise so early in the day.

Carrie and Myrtle retired to the room in the North Tower, to discuss whether or not to send word to Alan Macmillan to bring the architect from Knocknacolly and come to the Gathering, or whether to wait until James Buchanan arrived with the deeds early next week, before presenting them all at Glenbogle.

“I wouldn’t like it if Ben Nevis was rude to Alan,” said Carrie.

“Indeed, no, nor would I?” her sister-in-law affirmed.

“And perhaps as they’re arriving to-morrow,” Carrie went on, “they might find the walk from Knocknacolly a bit tiring.”

“I believe they would. I think we’ll drive over to Knocknacolly in your funny little runabout on Sunday,” said Myrtle. “I think that will be more fun. Besides, there’s no need for Chester to meet them till James Buchanan comes. And if this architect turns out to be a nice boy we can have a party of our own.”

Carrie agreed a little dubiously. She had a notion that Myrtle intended to start her right off on architecture.

At that moment the noise of what they supposed was the barking of Ben Nevis reached even this remote room. In point of fact it was the sound of Old Ben Nevis and Young Ben Nevis barking at one another, for Hector had just driven up to the Castle.

The Chieftain had not exaggerated when he said his eldest son was his second self. To be sure, Hector was neither so florid nor so weatherbeaten as his father, and though his nose was the authentic eagle’s beak of Mac ’ic Eachainn it lacked as yet the rich deep hues of amaranth and damson which could flood his father’s. He was slimmer too, naturally, and was indeed a fine figure of a young man; but he had the same choleric blue eyes, and already even at twenty-five the same rumbustious voice.

Carrie observed, a little gladly it may be added, that her sister-in-law was obviously agreeably surprised by Hector MacDonald, Younger, of Ben Nevis.

“He’s had a good trip. You had a good trip, Hector, didn’t you?” Ben Nevis bellowed.

“Absolutely tophole,” Hector bellowed back. “The Colonel wasn’t too keen on giving me leave. I won’t be able to take more than the inside of a week.”

“Oh, well, one can do a lot in a week. Now, would you like some more breakfast?”