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Updated: June 13, 2025
"I doot but yo'll be too drunk to see owt except, 'appen, your bottle," the boy shouted back; and swaggered down the hill. At Kenmuir that night the marked and particular kindness of Elizabeth Moore was too much for the overstrung lad. Overcome by the contrast of her sweet motherliness, he burst into a storm of invective against his father, his home, his life everything.
IT was only three short weeks before Cup Day that one afternoon Jim Mason brought a letter to Kenmuir. James Moore opened it as the postman still stood in the door. It was from Long Kirby still in retirement begging him for mercy's sake to keep Owd Bob safe within doors at nights; at all events till after the great event was over.
"I've never seen such a field, and I've seen fifty," is Parson Leggy's verdict. There, beside the tall form of his master, stands Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, the observed of all. His silvery brush fans the air, and he holds his dark head high as he scans his challengers, proudly conscious that to-day will make or mar his fame.
He could tell it from the touch of the boy's hand on his head; and the story was writ large upon his face for a dog to read. And he would follow the lad about with a compassion in his sad gray eyes greater than words. David might well compare his gray friend at Kenmuir with that other at the Grange. The Tailless Tyke had now grown into an immense dog, heavy of muscle and huge of bone.
Despite his father's angry commands, the boy clung to his intimacy with the Moores with a doggedness that no thrashing could overcome. Not a minute of the day when out of school, holidays and Sundays included, but was passed at Kenmuir. It was not till late at night that he would sneak back to the Grange, and creep quietly up to his tiny bare room in the roof not supperless, indeed, motherly Mrs.
By his side Red Wull was standing alert, hackles up, yellow fangs bared, eyes lurid; and, at his feet, the wee brown mouse lay still and lifeless. "Oot o' ma hoose! Back to Kenmuir! Back to yer " The unpardonable word, unmistakable, hovered for a second on his lips like some foul bubble, and never burst. "No mither this time!" panted David, racing round the table. "Wullie!"
But David, with a mighty kick catching him full on the jaw, repelled the attack. Then he gripped his father round the waist and lifted him from the ground. The little man, struggling in those iron arms, screamed, cursed, and battered at the face above him, kicking and biting in his frenzy. "The Killer! wad ye ken wha's the Killer? Go and ask 'em at Kenmuir! Ask yer "
The Silver Mere was soon ice-veiled; the Wastrel rolled sullenly down below Kenmuir, its creeks and quiet places tented with jagged sheets of ice; while the Scaur and Muir Pike raised hoary heads against the frosty blue. It was the season still remembered in the North as the White Winter the worst, they say, since the famous 1808.
Sam'l was half up the wheel of the Kenmuir wagon; every man was on his toes; ladies were standing in their carriages; even Jim Mason's face flushed with momentary excitement. The sheep were tearing along the hillside, all together, like a white scud. After them, galloping like a Waterloo winner, raced Red Wull.
The rebels retiring northward to Woller, were joined by two hundred Scottish horse under the lord viscount Kenmuir, and the earls of Carnwath and Winton, who had set up the pretender's standard at Moffat, and proclaimed him in different parts of Scotland.
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