stood like rocks in the tideway. About them surged
a continually changing throng, shaking the man's hand, patting the dog.

Maggie had carried wee Anne to tender her congratulations; Long Kirby
had come; Tammas, Saunderson, Hoppin, Tupper, Londesley--all but Jim
Mason; and now, elbowing through the press, came squire and parson.

"Well done, James! well done, indeed! Knew you'd win! told you so eh,
eh!" Then facetiously to Owd Bob: "Knew you would, Robert, old man!
Ought to Robert the Dev--musn't be a naughty boy--eh, eh!"

"The first time ever the Dale Cup's been won outright!" said the Parson,
"and I daresay it never will again. And I think Kenmuir's the very
fittest place for its final home, and a Gray Dog of Kenmuir for its
winner."

"Oh, by the by!" burst in the squire. "I've fixed the Manor dinner for
to-day fortnight, James. Tell Saunderson and Tupper, will you? Want all
the tenants there." He disappeared into the crowd, but in a minute had
fought his way back. "I'd forgotten something!" he shouted. "Tell your
Maggie perhaps you'll have news for her after it eh! eh!" and he was
gone again.

Last of all, James Moore was aware of a white, blotchy, grinning face at
his elbow.

"I maun congratulate ye, Mr. Moore. Ye've beat us--you and the
gentlemen--judges."

"'Twas a close thing, M'Adam," the other answered. "An' yo' made a gran'
fight. In ma life I niver saw a finer turn than yours by the two flags
yonder. I hope yo' bear no malice."

"Malice! Me? Is it likely? Na, na. 'Do onto ivery man as he does onto
you--and somethin' over,' that's my motter. I owe ye mony a good turn,
which I'll pay ye yet. Na, na; there's nae good fechtin' agin fate--and
the judges. Weel, I wush you well o' yer victory. Aiblins' twill be oor
turn next."

Then a rush, headed by Sam'l, roughly hustled the one away and bore the
other off on its shoulders in boisterous triumph.

* * * * *

In giving the Cup away, Lady Eleanour made a prettier speech than ever.
Yet all the while she was haunted by a white, miserable face; and all
the while she was conscious of two black moving dots in the Murk Muir
Pass opposite her--solitary, desolate, a contrast to the huzzaing crowd
around.

* * * * *

That is how the champion challenge Dale Cup, the world-known Shepherds'
Trophy, came to wander no more; won outright by the last of the Gray
Dogs of Kenmuir--Owd Bob.

Why he was t