on it fair."

He elbowed through the press, making for the rope-guarded inclosure in
front of the committee tent, round which the people were now packing. In
the door of the tent stood the secretary, various stewards, and members
of the committee. In front, alone in the roped-off space, was Lady
Eleanour, fragile, dainty, graceful, waiting with a smile upon her face
to receive the winner. And on a table beside her, naked and dignified,
the Shepherd's Trophy.

There it stood, kingly and impressive; its fair white sides inscribed
with many names; cradled in three shepherds' crooks; and on the top, as
if to guard the Cup's contents, an exquisitely carved collie's head. The
Shepherds' Trophy, the goal of his life's race, and many another man's.

He climbed over the rope, followed by Red Wull, and took off his hat
with almost courtly deference to the fair lady before him.

As he walked up to the table on which the Cup stood, a shrill voice,
easily recognizable, broke the silence.

"You'd like it better if 'twas full and yo' could swim in it, you and
yer Wullie," it called. Whereat the crowd giggled, and Lady Eleanour
looked indignant.

The little man turned.

"I'll mind drink yer health, Mr. Thornton, never fear, though I ken ye'd
prefaire to drink yer ain," he said. At which the crowd giggled afresh;
and a gray head at the back, which had hoped itself unrecognized,
disappeared suddenly.

The little man stood there in the stillness, sourly smiling, his face
still wet from his exertions; while the Tailless Tyke at his side
fronted defiantly the serried ring of onlookers, a white fence of teeth
faintly visible between his lips.

Lady Eleanour looked uneasy. Usually the lucky winner was unable to
hear her little speech, as she gave the Cup away, so deafening was the
applause. Now there was utter silence. She glanced up at the crowd, but
there was no response to her unspoken appeal in that forest of hostile
faces. And her gentle heart bled for the forlorn little man before her.
To make it up she smiled on him so sweetly as to more than compensate
him.

"I'm sure you deserve your success, Mr. M'Adam," she said. "You and Red
Wull there worked splendidly--everybody says so."

"I've heard naethin' o't," the little man answered dryly. At which some
one in the crowd sniggered.

"And we all know what a grand dog he is; though"--with a reproving smile
as she glanced at Red Wull's square, truncated stern--"he's not very
p