nton?"

Of what happened while the men were within doors, it is enough to tell
two things. First, that Owd Bob was no bully. Second, this: In the code
of sheep-dog honor there is written a word in stark black letters; and
opposite it another word, writ large in the color of blood. The first
is "Sheep-murder"; the second, "Death." It is the one crime only to
be wiped away in blood; and to accuse of the crime is to offer the one
unpardonable insult. Every sheep-dog knows it, and every shepherd.

That afternoon, as the men still talked, the quiet echoes of the
farm rung with a furious animal cry, twice repeated: "Shot for
sheep-murder"--"Shot for sheep-murder"; followed by a hollow stillness.

* * * * *

The two men finished their colloquy. The matter was concluded
peacefully, mainly owing to the pacifying influence of Mrs. Moore.
Together the three went out into the yard; Mrs. Moore seizing the
opportunity to shyly speak on David's behalf.

"He's such a good little lad, I do think," she was saying.

"Ye should ken, Mrs. Moore," the little man answered, a thought
bitterly; "ye see enough of him."

"Yo' mun be main proud of un, mester," the woman continued, heedless of
the sneer: "an' 'im growin' such a gradely lad."

M'Adam shrugged his shoulders.

"I barely ken the lad," he said. "By sight I know him, of course, but
barely to speak to. He's but seldom at hame."

"An' hoo proud his mother'd be if she could see him," the woman
continued, well aware of his one tender place. "Eh, but she was fond o'
him, so she was."

An angry flush stole over the little man's face. Well he understood the
implied rebuke; and it hurt him like a knife.

"Ay, ay, Mrs. Moore," he began. Then breaking off, and looking about
him--"Where's ma Wullie?" he cried excitedly. "James Moore!" whipping
round on the Master, "ma Wullie's gone--gone, I say!"

Elizabeth Moore turned away indignantly. "I do declar' he tak's more
fash after yon little yaller beastie than iver he does after his own
flesh," she muttered.

"Wullie, ma we doggie! Wullie, where are ye? James Moore, he's gone--ma
Wullie's gone!" cried the little man, running about the yard, searching
everywhere.

"Cannot 'a' gotten far," said the Master, reassuringly, looking about
him.

"Niver no tellin'," said Sam'l, appearing on the scene, pig-bucket
in hand. "I misdoot yo'll iver see your dog agin, mister." He turned
sorrowfully to M'Adam.

That