tification,
weariness.

Chapter XXV THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY

Cup Day.

It broke calm and beautiful, no cloud on the horizon, no threat of storm
in the air; a fitting day on which the Shepherds' Trophy must be won
outright.

And well it was so. For never since the founding of the Dale Trials had
such a concourse been gathered together on the North bank of the Silver
Lea. From the Highlands they came; from the far Campbell country; from
the Peak; from the county of many acres; from all along the silver
fringes of the Solway; assembling in that quiet corner of the earth to
see the famous Gray Dog of Kenmuir fight his last great battle for the
Shepherds' Trophy.

By noon the gaunt Scaur looked down on such a gathering as it had never
seen. The paddock at the back of the Dalesman's Daughter was packed with
a clammering, chattering multitude: animated groups of farmers; bevies
of solid rustics; sharp-faced townsmen; loud-voiced bookmakers; giggling
girls; amorous boys,--thrown together like toys in a sawdust bath;
whilst here and there, on the outskirts of the crowd, a lonely man and
wise-faced dog, come from afar to wrest his proud title from the best
sheep-dog in the North.

At the back of the enclosure was drawn up a formidable array of carts
and carriages, varying as much in quality and character as did their
owners. There was the squire's landau rubbing axle-boxes with Jem
Burton's modest moke-cart; and there Viscount Birdsaye's flaring
barouche side by side with the red-wheeled wagon of Kenmuir.

In the latter, Maggie, sad and sweet in her simple summer garb, leant
over to talk to Lady Eleanour; while golden-haired wee Anne, delighted
with the surging crowd around, trotted about the wagon, waving to her
friends, and shouting from very joyousness.

Thick as flies clustered that motley assembly on the north bank of the
Silver Lea. While on the other side the stream was a little group of
judges, inspecting the course.

The line laid out ran thus: the sheep must first be found in the big
enclosure to the right of the starting flag; then up the slope and away
from the spectators; around a flag and obliquely down the hill again;
through a gap in the wall; along the hillside, parrallel to the Silver
Lea; abruptly to the left through a pair of flags--the trickiest turn of
them all; then down the slope to the pen, which was set up close to the
bridge over the stream.

The proceedings began with the Local Stak