more fash after yon little yaller beastie than iver he does after his
own flesh," she muttered.

"Wullie, ma we doggie! Wullie, where are ye? James Moore, he's
gone--ma Wullie's gone!" cried the little man, running about the
yard, searching everywhere.

"Cannot 'a' gotten far," said the Master, reassuringly, looking about
him.

"Niver no tellin'," said Sam'l, appearing on the scene, pig-bucket in
hand. "I inisdoot yo'll iver see your dog agin, mister." He turned
sorrowfully to M'Adam.

That little man, all dishevelled, and with the perspiration standing
on his face, came hurrying out of the cow-shed and danced up to
the Master.

"It's robbed I am--robbed, I tell ye!" he cried recklessly. "Ma wee
Wull's bin stolen while I was ben your hoose, James Moore!"

"Yo' munna say that, ma mon. No robbin' at Kenmuir," the Master
answered sternly.

"Then where is he? It's for you to say."

"I've ma own idee, I 'aye," Sam'l announced opportunely,
pig-bucket uplifted.

M'Adam turned on him.