The Boggart and the Monster Read Online Free PDF

slimmer,”
said Mr. Maconochie.
    â€œAnd fewer whiskers,”
Tommy said. He dodged quickly, grinning, as she splashed him.
    Mr. Maconochie said,
“If the weather does hold — d’you remember I mentioned camping?”
    â€œYes!”
said Jessup promptly.
    â€œReal camping?”
said Emily.
“With tents and backpacks and all?”
    Tommy shook his head.
“Mr. Mac is a softie camper,”
he said.
“The gear all gets carried in the car, and the car’s right there where you pitch your tent.”
    Mr. Maconochie said with dignity,
“I am an aging man. And who was it chose to sleep
inside
the car, last time?”
    â€œOne night in a tent with the dreaded great-nephews was enough,”
Tommy said.
“A frog in my sleeping bag and stones in my sneakers. They’re worse than the Boggart.”
He started the outboard motor.
“Pull up the anchor, Jessup.”
    Emily settled herself contentedly in the bow.
“Canwe really go camping? Where shall we go?”
    â€œAlmost anywhere,”
said Mr. Maconochie.
“I just want to show you the Highlands. There’s more to Western Scotland than Castle Keep.”
    Jessup dropped the anchor clanking at their feet, and coiled wet line neatly beside it.
“Could we go to Loch Ness? Is that far?”
    â€œCertainly we could,”
said Mr. Maconochie.
“Not far at all.”
    Tommy made a snorting sound, audible even over the chugging of the motor.
“Loch Ness! You’re surely not thinking of the Monster?”
    Jessup frowned.
“Why not?”
    â€œThat’s all tourist rubbish,”
Tommy said coldly. He nudged the throttle higher, and Jessup sat down suddenly as the boat began to pitch.
    â€œBut there was this cool guy on the plane,”
Jessup said, and all the way home he recited, with much incomprehensible scientific detail, the story of Harold Pindle and his robot submarine expedition. Tommy grunted, unimpressed, and slowed the boat gently down as they came close to Castle Keep’s rocky landing.
    â€œThat’s a classic sound you made,”
Jessup said.
“You’ve done it twice now. It’s the Scornful Scottish Snort.”
    Tommy’s mouth twitched.
“When we’re by Loch Ness you’ll hear another one called the Canny Caledonian Clink. It’s the sound of the local Scots collecting money from gullible American monster-hunters.”
    â€œI quite liked Harold,”
Emily said mildly.
“And he’s Canadian, thank you. He’s a professor at the Universityof British Columbia, and he and Jess talked computers halfway across the Atlantic.”
    â€œI bet you didn’t tell him about the Boggart,”
Tommy said.
    â€œOf course not,”
said Jessup.
“He’s a scientist. They only believe in things they can see and check and measure. That’s what he wants to do to the plesiosaur. If it is a plesiosaur.”
    Mr. Maconochie stepped out of the dinghy with the bow line as Tommy nudged them up to the rock jetty of the castle.
“It’s a beautiful loch anyway. Let’s dig out the camping gear and you can choose your tents.”
    So, up in one of the small dark upper rooms of the castle that were used only for storage, they burrowed in numbers of large, exciting boxes ordered by Mr. Maconochie by mail from specialized camping stores. There were tents and sleeping bags, anoraks and boots, packets of improbable freeze-dried food, even shiny blankets of the kind used by astronauts.
    â€œHe’s like a little kid with those camping catalogs,”
Tommy told them, pulling out a tent frame so light he could hold it with one finger.
“My mum says we should go through his mail and hide them from him. He buys something every month. There’s enough stuff up here for an Everest expedition.”
    â€œIt’s the modern materials,”
Mr. Maconochie said unrepentantly.
“They’re so amazing, I can never