said Sam'l brutally.

"I'll live as long as some, I warrant," the old man replied with
spirit. "I'll live to see Cup back i' Kenmuir, as I said afore."

"If yo' do," the other declared with emphasis, "Sam'l Todd niver
spake a true word. Nay, nay, lad; yo're owd, yo're wambly, your
time's near run or I'm the more mistook."

"For mussy's sake hold yo' tongue, Sam'l Todd! It's clack-clack all
day--" The old man broke off suddenly, and buckled to his work
with suspicious vigor. "Mak' a show yo' bin workin', lad," he
whispered. "Here's Master and oor Bob."

As he spoke, a tall gaitered man with weather-beaten face, strong,
lean, austere, and the blue-gray eyes of the hill-country, came
striding into the yard. And trotting soberly at his heels, with the
gravest, saddest eyes ever you saw, a sheep-dog puppy.

A rare dark gray he was, his long coat, dashed here and there with
lighter touches, like a stormy sea moonlit. Upon his chest an
escutcheon of purest white, and the dome of his head showered, as
it were, with a sprinkling of snow. Perfectly compact, utterly lithe,
inimitably graceful with his airy-fairy action; a gentleman every
inch, you could not help but stare at him--Owd Bob o' Ken-muir.

At the foot of the ladder the two stopped. And the young dog,
placing his forepaws on a lower rung, looked up, slowly waving
his silvery brush.