pitefully at the pair in the Kenmuir wagon, and singing:

"Let a lad aloan, lass, Let a lad a-be."

While her father, Teddy, dodged in and out among the crowd with tray and
glasses: for Cup Day was the great day of the year for him.

Past the group of Dalesmen and on all sides was a mass of bobbing
heads--Scots, Northerners, Yorkshiremen, Taffies. To right and left
a long array of carriages and carts, ranging from the squire's quiet
landau and Viscount Birdsaye's gorgeous barouche to Liz Burton's
three-legged moke-cart with little Mrs. Burton, the twins, young Jake
(who should have walked), and Monkey (ditto) packed away inside. Beyond
the Silver Lea the gaunt Scaur raised its craggy peak, and the Pass,
trending along its side, shone white in the sunshine.

At the back of the carriages were booths, cocoanut-shies, Aunt Sallies,
shows, bookmakers' stools, and all the panoply of such a meeting.
Here Master Launcelot Bilks and Jacky Sylvester were fighting; Cyril
Gilbraith was offering to take on the boxing man; Long Kirby was
snapping up the odds against Red Wull; and Liz Burton and young Ned
Hoppin were being photographed together, while Melia Ross in the
background was pretending she didn't care.

On the far bank of the stream was a little bevy of men and dogs,
observed of all.

The Juvenile Stakes had been run and won; Londesley's Lassie had carried
off the Locals; and the fight for the Shepherds' Trophy was about to
begin.

"Yo're not lookin' at me noo," whispered Maggie to the silent boy by her
side.

"Nay; nor niver don't wush to agin." David answered roughly. His gaze
was directed over the array of heads in front to where, beyond the
Silver Lea, a group of shepherds and their dogs was clustered. While
standing apart from the rest, in characteristic isolation, was the bent
figure of his father, and beside him the Tailless Tyke.

"Doest'o not want yo' feyther to win?" asked Maggie softly, following
his gaze.

"I'm prayin' he'll be beat," the boy answered moodily.

"Eh, Davie, hoo can ye?" cried the girl, shocked.

"It's easy to say, 'Eh, David,'" he snapped. "But if yo' lived along
o' them two "--he nodded toward the stream--"'appen yo'd understand a
bit.... 'Eh, David,' indeed! I never did!"

"I know it, lad," she said tenderly; and he was appeased.

"He'd give his right hand for his bless'd Wullie to win; I'd give me
right arm to see him beat.... And oor Bob there all the while,"--he
nodded to the