be indifferent. "They dinna like it, lad--he! he! But they'll e'en ha'
to thole it. Ye've won it, Wullie--won it fair."

He elbowed through the press, making for the rope-guarded
inclosure in front of the committee tent, round which the people
were now packing. In the door of the tent stood the secretary,
various stewards, and members of the committee. In front, alone in
the roped-off space, was Lady Elenour, fragile, dainty, graceful,
waiting with a smile upon her face to receive the winner. And on a
table beside her, naked and dignified, the Shepherd's Trophy.

There it stood, kingly and impressive; its fair white sides inscribed
with many names; cradled in three shepherds' crooks; and on the
top, as if to guard the Cup's contents, an exquistely carved collie's
head. The Shepherds' Trophy, the goal of his life's race, and many
another man's.

He climbed over the rope, followed by Red Wull, and took off his
hat with almost courtly deference to the fair lady before him.

As he walked tip to the table on which the Cup stood, a shrill
voice, easily recognizable, broke the silence.

"You'd like it better if 'twas full and yo' could swim in it, you and
yer Wullie," it called. Whereat the crowd giggled, and Lady
Eleanour looked indignant.

The little man turned.

"I'll mind drink yer health, Mr. Thornton, never fear, though I ken