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Updated: May 18, 2025
Even the Sylvester Arms knew him no more; for he stayed where he was with his dog and his bottle. Only, when the shroud of night had come down to cover him, he slipped out and away on some errand on which not even Red Wull accompanied him. So the time glided on, till the Sunday before the Trials came round. All that day M'Adam sat in his kitchen, drinking, muttering, hatching revenge.
They disappeared as silently as they had come; and two small figures, just returned from school, glided away and sought shelter in the friendly darkness of a coal-hole. "Coom awa', Maggie, coom awa'! 'Tis th' owd un, 'isself," whispered a disrespectful voice. M'Adam looked round suspiciously. "What's that?" he asked sharply. At the moment, however, Mrs.
And each man, as he came in and saw the little lone figure for once without its huge attendant genius, put the same question; while the dogs sniffed about the little man, as though suspecting treachery. And all the time M'Adam sat as though he neither heard nor saw, lost in some sweet, sad dream; so quite, so silent, that more than one thought he slept.
For once these men, whom, as a rule, no such geyser outbursts could quell, were dumb before him; only now and then shooting furtive glances in his direction, as though on the brink of some daring enterprise of which he was the objective. But M'Adam noticed nothing, suspected nothing. When, at length, he lurched into the kitchen of the Grange, there was no light and the fire burnt low.
"But I will!" yelled M'Adam; and, darting forward as the gate swung to, struck furiously at his opponent. He missed, and the gray dog charged at him like a mail-train. "Hi! James Moore " but over he went like a toppled wheelbarrow, while the old dog turned again, raced at the gate, took it magnificently in his stride, and galloped up the lane after his master.
IT was long past dark that night when M'Adam staggered home. All that evening at the Sylvester Arms his imprecations against David had made even the hardest shudder. James Moore, Owd Bob, and the Dale Cup were for once forgotten as, in his passion, he cursed his son. The Dalesmen gathered fearfully away from the little dripping madman.
Throughout the straggling lands of Kenmuir the Master went with his untiring adjutant, rounding up, cutting out, drafting. It was already noon when the flock started from the yard. On the gate by the stile, as the party came up, sat M'Adam. "I've a word to say to you, James Moore," he announced, as the Master approached. "Say it then, and quick.
"M'Adam," he said rapidly and almost roughly, "I've listened to what you've said, as I think we all have, with a sore heart. You hit hard but I think you were right. And if I've not done my duty by you as I ought and I fear I've not it's now my duty as God's minister to be the first to say I'm sorry." And it was evident from his face what an effort the words cost him.
"I've heard naethin' o't," the little man answered dryly. At which some one in the crowd sniggered. "And we all know what a grand dog he is; though" with a reproving smile as she glanced at Red Wull's square, truncated stern "he's not very polite." "His heart is good, your Leddyship, if his manners are not," M'Adam answered, smiling. "Liar!" came a loud voice in the silence.
Of late the relations between M'Adam and James Moore had been unusually strained. Though they were neighbors, communications between the two were of the rarest; and it was for the first time for many a long day that, on an afternoon shortly after Red Wull had come into his possession, M'Adam entered the yard of Kenmuir, bent on girding at the master for an alleged trespass at the Stony Bottom.
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