d the way of escape of the
one, and a displaced hurdle that of the other. And as he was making the
discovery, a gray dog and a flock of sheep, travelling along the road
toward the Dalesman's Daughter, met the Master.

From the first, Owd Bob had mistrusted the man. The attempt to confine
him set the seal on his suspicions. His master's sheep were not for such
a rogue; and he worked his own way out and took the sheep along with
him.

The story was told to a running chorus of--"Ma word! Good, Owd Un!--Ho!
ho! did he thot?"

Of them all, only M'Adam sat strangely silent.

Rob Saunderson, always glad to draw the little man, remarked it.

"And what d'yo' think o' that, Mr. M'Adam, for a wunnerfu' story of a
wunnerfu' tyke?" he asked.

"It's a gude tale, a vera gude tale," the little man answered dreamily.
"And James Moore didna invent it; he had it from the Christmas number
o' the _Flock-keeper_ in saxty." (On the following Sunday, old Rob, from
sheer curiosity, reached down from his shelf the specified number of the
paper. To his amazement he found the little man was right. There was the
story almost identically. None the less is it also true of Owd Bob o'
Kenmuir.)

"Ay, ay," the little man continued, "and in a day or two James Moore'll
ha' anither tale to tell ye--a better tale, ye'll think it--mair
laffable. And yet--ay---no---I'll no believe it! I niver loved James
Moore, but I think, as Mr. Hornbut aince said, he'd rather die than lie.
Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!" he continued in a whisper. "Up till the end I canna
shake him aff. Hafflins I think that where I'm gaein' to there'll be
gray dogs sneakin' around me in the twilight. And they're aye behind and
behind, and I canna, canna--"

Teddy Bolstock interrupted, lifting his hand for silence.

"D'yo' hear thot?--Thunder!"

They listened; and from without came a gurgling, jarring roar, horrible
to hear.

"It's comin' nearer!"

"Nay, it's goin' away!"

"No thunder thot!"

"More like the Lea in flood. And yet--Eh, Mr. M'Adam, what is it?"

The little man had moved at last. He was on his feet, staring about him,
wild-eyed.

"Where's yer dogs?" he almost screamed.

"Here's ma--Nay, by thunder! but he's not!" was the astonished cry.

In the interest of the story no man had noticed that his dog had risen
from his side; no one had noticed a file of shaggy figures creeping out
of the room.

"I tell ye it's the tykes! I tell ye it's the tykes! They're on ma
Wul