"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. She had noted some reserve in Railton's manner when he
mentioned the broken dyke and knew the flockmasters were careful about
their dry walls. The rest was plain; the _heaf_ is the hill pasture where
a lamb is born, and Swinset was fifteen miles away. It was a very large
sheepwalk and much time would be needed to find the sheep on the wide
belt of moor.

"If you know the sheep are at Swinset, they would be allowed for in the
count," she said.

"I have my doubts. Mr. Hayes sent me notice tally would be taken on
Thursday and he's a hard man."

Grace colored. Although she did not like Hayes, he was Osborn's agent.
There was much she wanted to know, but she could not ask.

"Mr. Hayes cannot do exactly as he likes; he must get my father's
consent," she said. "However, as I am going home by the field path, I had
better start before it's dark."

"There's a broken gate that's awkward to open. I will come with you until
you reach it," Kit remarked.

They went out together. The sleet had stopped, but leaden clouds rolled
across the hills that glimmered white in the dusk. As they struck across