two only ever dreamed the whole depth of his unhappiness, and
that not through David. James Moore suspected something of it all,
for he knew more of M'Adam than did the others. While Owd Bob
knew it as did no one else. He could tell it from the touch of the
boy's hand on his head; and the story was writ large upon his face
for a dog to read. And he would follow the lad about with a
compassion in his sad gray eyes greater than words.

David might well compare his gray friend at Kenmuir with that
other at the Grange.

The Tailless Tyke had now grown into an immense dog, heavy of
muscle and huge of bone. A great bull head; undershot jaw, square
and lengthy and terrible; vicious, yellow-gleaming eyes; cropped
ears; and an expression incomparably savage. His coat was a
tawny, lion-like yellow, short, harsh, dense; and his back, running
up from shoulder to loins, ended abruptly in the knob-like tail. He
looked like the devil of a dogs' hell. And his reputation was as bad
as his looks. He never attacked unprovoked; but a challenge was
never ignored, and he was greedy of insults. Already he had nigh
killed Rob Saunderson's collie, Shep; Jem Burton's Monkey fled
incontinently at the sound of his approach; while he had even
fought a round with that redoubtable trio, the Vexer, Venus, and
Van Tromp.

Nor, in the matter of war, did he confine himself to his own kind.
His huge strength and indomitable courage made him the match of
almost anything that moved. Long Kirby once threatened him with
a broomstick; the smith never did it again. While in the Border
Ram he attacked Big Bell, the Squire's underkeeper, with such