n no reight to fence it in."

"Happen we're doin' it for t' good o' t' country," argued Timothy.
"There's bin a vast o' good herbage wasted, wi' sheep hallockin' all
ower t' moors, croppin' a bit here and a bit theer, and lettin' t' best
part o' t' grass get spoilt."

"Thou's leein', and thou knows it," replied Peregrine, with the
righteous indignation of one whose professional honour is impugned.
"I've allus taen care that t' moors hae bin cropped fair; thou reckons
thou'll feed mair yowes an' lambs on t' moors when thou's bigged thy
walls; but thou weant, thou'll feed less. I know mair about sheep nor
thou does, and I tell thee thou'll not get thy twee hinds to tend 'em
same as a shepherd that's bred an' born on t' moors."

"We sal see about that," Metcalfe answered sullenly.

"An' what wilta do when t' winter storms coom?" Peregrine continued.
"It's not o' thee an' thine, but o' t' yowes I's thinkin'; they'll be
liggin theer for mebbe three week buried under t' snow. It's then
thou'll be wantin' t' owd shipperd back, aye, an' Rover too, that can
set a sheep when shoo's under six foot o' snow."

"Thou's despert proud of what thou knows about sheep an' dogs,
Peregrine, but there's mony a lad down i' t' dale that's thy marrow."

"Aye, I's proud o' what I've larnt misel through tendin' sheep on t'
Craven moors for mair nor sixty year; and thou's proud o' thy meadows
and pasturs down i' t' dale, aye, and o' thy beasts an' yowes and all
thy farm-gear; but it's t' pride that gans afore a fall. Think on my
words, Timothy Metcalfe, when I's liggin clay-cowd i' my grave. Thou's
tramplin' on t' owd shipperd an' robbin' him o' his callin'; and there's
fowks makkin' brass i' t' towns that'll seean be robbin' thee o' thy
lands. Thou's puttin' up walls all ower t' commons an' lettin' t' snakes
wind theirsels around my lile biggin; and there's fowks'll be puttin' up
bigger walls, that'll be like a halter round thy neck."

As he uttered these words, Peregrine drew himself up to his full height,
and his flashing eyes and animated gestures gave to what he said
something of the weight of a sibylline prophecy. Then, calling his dog
to heel, he moved slowly away.

By the end of August the walls had reached the top of the fells and
there had joined up with those which had mounted the other slope of the
moors from the next valley. And now began the final stage in the process
of enclosure--the building of the cross-walls and the divi