where his remaining sons were living.

There was no human being to whom he could communicate his thoughts, yet
the pent-up anguish must find outlet somehow, lest the heart-strings
should snap beneath the strain. It was therefore to his sheepdog, Rover,
that he unburdened his mind, as the dog lay with its paws across his
knees in the heather, looking up to its master's face. "Snakes, Rover,
doesta see t' snakes," he would mutter, as his eye caught the
serpent-like advance of the walls. The dog seemed to catch his meaning,
and responded with a low growl of sympathy. "Aye, they're snakes," the
old man went on, "crawlin's up t' fell-side on their bellies an' lickin'
up t' dust. They've gotten their fangs into my heart, Rover, and seean
they'll be coilin' thersels about my body. I niver thowt to see t'
snakes clim' t' moors; they sud hae bided i' t' dale and left t' owd
shipperd to dee in peace."

When clipping-time came the walls had almost reached the level of the
shepherd's cottage. It was the farmers' custom to pay Peregrine a visit
at this time and receive at his hands the sheep that were to be driven
down to the valley to be clipped and earmarked. But this year not a
single one appeared. Shame held them back, and they sent their hinds
instead. These knew well what was passing in the shepherd s mind, but
they stood in too much awe of him to broach the subject; and he, on his
side, was too proud to confide his grievance to irresponsible farm
servants. But if nothing was said the dark circles round Peregrine's
eyes and the occasional trembling of his hand betrayed to the men his
sleepless nights and the palsied fear that infected his heart.

At times, too, though he did his utmost to avoid them, the shepherd
would come upon the bands of wallers engaged in their sinister task.
These were strangers to the dale and less reticent than the men from the
farms.

"Good-mornin', shipperd. Thou'll be noan sae pleased to set een on us
wallers, I reckon," one of them would say.

"Good-mornin'," Peregrine would reply. "I weant say that I's fain to see
you, but I've no call to threap wi' waller-lads. Ye can gan back to them
that sent you and axe 'em why they've nivver set foot on t' moor this
yeer."

"Mebbe they're thrang wi' their beasts and have no time to look after t'
yowes."

"Thrang wi' beasts, is it? Nay, they're thrang wi' t' devil, and are
flaid to look an honest man i' t' face."

The old man's words, and still more