"A proper Gray Dog!" mused Tammas, gazing down into the dark
face beneath him. "Small, yet big; light to get about on. backs o'
his sheep, yet not too light. Wi' a coat hard a-top to keep oot
Daleland weather, soft as sealskin beneath. And wi' them sorrerful
eyes on him as niver goes but wi' a good un. Amaist he minds me
o' Rex son o' Rally."

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" groaned Sam'l. But the old man heard him
not.

"Did 'Enry Farewether tell yo' hoo he acted this mornin', Master?"
he inquired, addressing the man at the foot of the ladder.

"Nay," said the other, his stern eyes lighting.

"Why, 'twas this way, it seems," Tammas continued. "Young bull
gets 'isseif loose. somegate and marches oot into yard, o'erturns
milkpail, and prods owd pigs i' ribs. And as he stands lookin' about
un, thinking' what he shall be up to next, oor Bob sees un 'An' what
yo' doin' here, Mr. Bull?' he seems to say, cockin' his ears and
trottin' up gay-like. Wi' that bull bloats fit to bust 'isseif, lashes wi's
tail, waggles his head, and gets agate o' chargin' 'im. But Bob
leaps oot o' way, quick as lightnin' yet cool as butter, and when he's
done his foolin drives un back agin."

"Who seed all this?" interposed Sam'l, sceptically.

" 'Enry Farewether from the loft. So there, Fat'ead!" Tammas
replied, and continued his tale. "So they goes on; bull chargin' and
Bob drivin' un back and back, hoppin' in and oot agin, quiet as a