In due course Dicky got his money, and food and drink, as much as he
could swallow, into the bargain. Then the farmer rode away for
Lanercost; and Dicky, of course, remembered that he had business in a
different part of the country.

Sure enough, when the farmer reached Lanercost there were his bullocks
contentedly grazing in a field, while contemplatively gazing at them
stood an elderly man, with damaged face.

Up rode the farmer on the mare.

"Here!" shouted he angrily, "what the de'il are ye doin' wi' my
bullocks?"

"Wh-a-at?" bellowed the other with equal fury. "_Your_ bullocks! And be
d----d to ye! If it comes to that, what the de'il are _ye_ doin' ridin'
my mare? I'll hae the law o' ye for stealin' her, ye scoondrel! Come
_doon_ oot o' my saiddle afore ah pu' ye doon." And the two elderly men,
each red in the face as a "bubbly jock," both spluttering and almost
speechless with rage, glared at each other, murder in their eyes.

Then came question and answer, and mutual explanation, and gradually the
comic side of the affair struck them; each saw how the other had been
done, and they burst into roar after roar of such laughter as left them
weak and helpless. They had been properly fooled. But the fat bullocks
were recovered, and the well-loved mare, even if the money paid for each
was gone. And after all, he laughs best who laughs last. But they saw no
more of Dicky of Kingswood.