appeared into the summer
night.

"Yon's a good lad," said the Master half to himself.

"Yes," the parson replied; "I always thought there was good in the boy,
if only his father'd give him a chance. And look at the way Owd Bob
there follows him. There's not another soul outside Kenmuir he'd do that
for."

"Ay, sir," said the Master. "Bob knows a mon when he sees one."

"He does," acquiesced the other. "And by the by, James, the talk in the
village is that you've settled not to run him for the Cup. Is, that so?"

The Master nodded.

"It is, sir. They're all mad I should, but I mun cross 'em. They say
he's reached his prime--and so he has o' his body, but not o' his brain.
And a sheep-dog--unlike other dogs--is not at his best till his brain
is at its best--and that takes a while developin', same as in a mon, I
reck'n."

"Well, well," said the parson, pulling out a favorite phrase, "waiting's
winning--waiting's winning."

* * * * *

David slipped up into his room and into bed unseen, he hoped. Alone with
the darkness, he allowed himself the rare relief of tears; and at length
fell asleep. He awoke to find his father standing at his bedside. The
little man held a feeble dip-candle in his hand, which lit his sallow
face in crude black and white. In the doorway, dimly outlined, was the
great figure of Red Wull.

"Whaur ha' ye been the day?" the little man asked. Then, looking down on
the white stained face beneath him, he added hurriedly: "If ye like to
lie, I'll believe ye."

David was out of bed and standing up in his night-shirt. He looked at
his father contemptuously.

"I ha' bin at Kenmuir. I'll not lie for yo' or your likes," he said
proudly.

The little man shrugged his shoulders.

"'Tell a lee and stick to it,' is my rule, and a good one, too, in
honest England. I for one 'll no think ony the worse o' ye if yer memory
plays yer false."

"D'yo' think I care a kick what yo' think o' me?" the boy asked
brutally. "Nay; there's 'nough liars in this fam'ly wi'oot me."

The candle trembled and was still again.

"A lickin' or a lie--tak' yer choice!"

The boy looked scornfully down on his father. Standing on his naked
feet, he already towered half a head above the other and was twice the
man.

"D'yo' think I'm fear'd o' a thrashin' fra yo'? Goo' gracious me!" he
sneered. "Why, I'd as lief let owd Grammer Maddox lick me, for all I
care."

A reference to his physical