flakes hid the ground a few yards ahead.

Somehow he got down, but he was exhausted and breathless when he
reached the bottom, where he was forced to wait before he could whistle
to his dog. He heard its bark and stumbling forward, found the flock
bunched together in a hollow. Then he sat down in the snow while Tom
counted the sheep.

"They're aw here," said the shepherd. "A better job than I thowt we'd
mak! Weel, let's gan on."

Kit was tired, and bruised by his fall, but he went forward behind the
dogs. His troubles were over, for a broad smooth path led along the
hill-foot to Mireside.




CHAPTER VII

THE RECKONING

The morning was dark, and although the gale had dropped, a raw, cold
wind blew up the valley past Mireside farm, where three or four farmers'
traps and some rusty bicycles stood beneath the projecting roof of a
barn. The bleating of sheep rose from a boggy pasture by the beck, and
lights twinkled as men with lanterns moved about in the gloom. Now and
then somebody shouted and dogs barked as a flock of Herdwicks was driven
to the pens.