dream? Ha' they took her fra us? Eh, but
it's you and I alane, lad."

He hugged it to him, crying silently, and rocking to and fro like a
mother with a dying child. And Red Wull sat up on his haunches, and
weaved from side to side in sympathy.

As the dark was falling, David looked in.

At the sound of the opening door the little man swung round noiselessly,
the Cup nursed in his arms, and glared, sullen and suspicious, at the
boy; yet seemed not to recognize him. In the half-light David could see
the tears coursing down the little wizened face.

"'Pon ma life, he's gaein' daft!" was his comment as he turned away to
Kenmuir. And again the mourners were left alone.

"A few hours noo, Wullie," the little man wailed, "and she'll be gane.
We won her, Wullie, you and I, won her fair: she's lit the hoose for
us; she's softened a' for us--and God kens we needed it; she was the ae
thing we had to look to and love. And noo they're takin' her awa', and
'twill be night agin. We've cherished her, we've garnished her, we've
loved her like oor ain; and noo she maun gang to strangers who know her
not."

He rose to his feet, and the great dog rose with him. His voice
heightened to a scream, and he swayed with the Cup in his arms till it
seemed he must fall.

"Did they win her fair, Wullie? Na; they plotted, they conspired, they
worked ilka ain o' them agin us, and they beat us. Ay, and noo they're
robbin' us--robbin' us! But they shallna ha' her. Oor's or naebody's,
Wullie! We'll finish her sooner nor that."

He banged the Cup down on the table and rushed madly out of the room,
Red Wull at his heels. In a moment he came running back, brandishing a
great axe about his head.

"Come on, Wullie!" he cried. "'Scots wha hae'! Noo's the day and noo's
the hour! Come on!"

On the table before him, serene and beautiful, stood the target of his
madness. The little man ran at it, swinging his murderous weapon like a
flail.

"Oor's or naebody's Wullie! Come on! 'Lay the proud usurpers low'!" He
aimed a mighty buffet; and the Shepherds' Trophy--the Shepherds' Trophy
which had won through the hardships of a hundred years--was almost gone.
It seemed to quiver as the blow fell. But the cruel steel missed, and
the axe-head sank into the wood, clean and deep, like a spade in snow.

Red Wull had leapt on to the table, and in his cavernous voice was
grumbling a chorus to his master's yells. The little man danced up and
down, tugging and st