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But theer! yo'm sic a scrappety bit. Noo, rin whoam." And the little man slunk silently away. For a time he appeared there no more. Then, one evening when it was almost dark, James Moore, going the round of the outbuildings, felt Owd Bob stiffen against his side. "What's oop, lad" he whispered, halting; and, dropping his hand on the old dog's neck felt a ruff of rising hair beneath it.
"Well," said he, in bantering tones, "yo'm a nice wench to ha' charge o' oor Annie!" It was a sore subject with the girl, and well he knew it. Wee Anne, that golden-haired imp of mischief, was forever evading her sister-mother's eye and attempting to immolate herself.
Bringin' a friend with me eh, eh!" and he stood aside to let by his agent, Parson Leggy, and last of all, shy and blushing, a fair-haired young giant. "If it bain't David!" was the cry. "Eh, lad, we's fain to see yo'! And yo'm lookin' stout, surely!" And they thronged about the boy, shaking him by the hand, and asking him his story. 'Twas but a simple tale.
The two children munched away in silence, the little bare-legged boy watching them, the while, critically. Irritated by this prolonged stare, David at length turned on him. "Weel, little Andrew," he said, speaking in that paternal fashion in which one small boy loves to address another. "Weel, ma little lad, yo'm coomin' along gradely."
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