When the two met, as they often must, it was always M'Adam's
endeavor to betray his enemy into an unworthy expression of
feeling. But James Moore, sorely tried as he often was, never gave
way. He met the little man's sneers with a quelling silence, looking
down on his asp-tongued antagonist with such a contempt flashing
from his blue-gray eyes as hurt his adversary more than words.

Only once was he spurred into reply. It was in the tap-room of the
Dalesman's Daughter on the occasion of the big spring fair in
Grammoch-town, when there was a goodly gathering of farmers
and their dogs in the room.

M'Adam was standing at the fireplace with Red Wull at his side.

"It's a noble pairt ye play, James Moore," he cried loudly across the
room, "settin' son against father, and dividin' hoose against hoose.
It's worthy o' ye we' yer churchgoin', and yer psalm-singin', and yer
godliness."

The Master looked up from the far end of the room.

"Happen yo're not aware, M'Adam," he said sternly, "that, an' it had
not bin for me, David'd ha' left you years agone--and 'twould
nob'but ha' served yo' right, I'm thinkin'.

The little man was beaten on his own ground, so he changed front.

"Dinna shout so, man--I have ears to hear, Forbye ye irritate
Wullie."