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Updated: May 18, 2025
It was while the Squire's lady was driving through the village on a visit* to Tammas's slobbering grandson it was shortly after Billy Thornton's advent into the world that little M'Adam, standing in the door of the Sylvester Arms, with a twig in his mouth and a sneer fading from his lips, made his ever-memorable remark: "Sall!" he said, speaking in low, earnest voice; "'tis a muckle wumman."
Meanwhile over M'Adam, seemingly all unsuspicious of these suspicions, a change had come. Whether it was that for the time he heard less of the best sheep-dog in the North, or for some more occult reason, certain it is that he became his old self.
Many an eye was directed on M'Adam; but that little man appeared all unconscious. "Weel, Mr. Saunderson," he was saying in, shrill accents, "and shall ye tie Shep?" "What d'yo' think?" asked Rob, eying the man at whom the measure was aimed. "Why, it's this way, I'm thinkin'," the little man replied. "Gin ye haud Shep's the guilty one I wad, by all manner o' means or shootin'd be aiblins better.
It was heartrending work; and all the more so in that, though his incrimination seemed as far off as ever, there was still the same positiveness as to the culprit's identity. Long Kirby, indeed, greatly daring, went so far on one occasion as to say to the little man: "And d'yo' reck'n the Killer is a sheep-dog, M'Adam?" "I do," the little man replied with conviction.
So into the kitchen and back up the stairs, and Red Wull always following. "I'll no despair yet o' teachin' ye the fifth commandment, though I kill masel' in doin' it!" cried the little man, seizing the strap from the boy's numb grasp. When it was over, M'Adam turned, breathless, away.
Luckily, M'Adam had not distinguished his son's voice among the others. But David feared he had; for on the following morning the little man said to him: "David, ye'll come hame immediately after school to-day." "Will I?" said David pertly. ''Ye will. "Why?" "Because I tell ye to, ma lad"; and that was all the reason he would give.
"Becos next year he'll win it fra yo'. Oor Bob'll win it, little mon. Why? thot's why." The retort was greeted with a yell of applause from the sprinkling of Dalesmen in the crowd. But M'Adam swaggered away into the tent, his head up, the Cup beneath his arm, and Red Wull guarding his rear. "First of a' ye'll ha' to beat Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull!" he cried back proudly.
Tinkerton, the squire's agent, declared that James Moore and Adam M'Adam Owd Bob, rather, and Red Wull had lost between them fewer sheep than any single farmer on the whole March Mere Estate a proud record. Of the two, many a tale was told that winter. They were invincible, incomparable; worthy antagonists.
It was a request which, according to the etiquette of shepherding, one man was bound to grant another. But M'Adam rushed on regardless, dancing and gesticulating. Save for the lightning vigilance of Owd Bob, the flock must have broken. "I think yo' might ha' waited!" remonstrated the Master, as the little man burst his way through.
An he'd say, 'What's gotten to oor Annie, as I left wi' yo'? And then yo'd have to tell him, 'I never took no manner o' fash after her, dad; d'reckly yo' back was turned, I " The girl sat down, buried her face in her apron, and indulged in the rare luxury of tears. "Yo're the cruellest mon as iver was, David M'Adam," she sobbed, rocking to and fro.
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