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Updated: April 30, 2025
"Tom and I start for Swinset to-morrow to try to bring them back. But if you'll wait a moment, I'll open the gate." He walked through the mud the cattle had churned up, and, lifting the broken gate, pushed it back so that Grace could cross a drier spot. Then, as he stood with his hands on the rotten bars, she stopped. "Don't start for Swinset until you hear from me," she said. "Thank you.
T' lambs niver get over wet spring and t' ewes is poor. Then flock is weel under tally; I've lost two score Swinset Herdwicks, and the mak-up's next Thursday." "But how did you lose forty sheep?" Grace asked. "There was a hole in fell dyke and Swinset sheep are thief sheep, varra bad to hoad. I bowt ewes there and t' lambs followed when they wandert back to their heaf." Grace pondered.
"Here's Kit and t' lot fra Swinset." Three of four more shouted and Grace, who had followed Railton, thought there was a note of triumph in their cries. Then dogs began to bark, somebody opened a gate, and a flock of Herdwicks, leaping out with wet fleeces shaking, and hoofs clicking on stone, ran across a shallow pool where the beck had overflowed. A few minutes afterwards, Kit came in.
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