Men still tell how, when the squire's new thrashing-machine ran
amuck in Grammochtown, and for some minutes the market
square was a turbulent sea of blaspheming men, yelping dogs,
and stampeding sheep, only one flock stood calm as a mill-pond by
the bull-ring, watching the riot with almost indifference. And in
front, sitting between them and the storm, was a quiet gray dog, his
mouth stretched in a capacious yawn: to yawn was to win, and he
won.

When the worst of the uproar was over, many a glance of triumph
was shot first at that one still pack, and then at M'Adam, as he
waded through the disorder of huddling sheep.

"And wheer's your Wullie noo?" asked Tapper scornfully.

"Weel," the little man answered with a quiet smile, "at this minute
he's killin' your Rasper doon by the pump." Which was indeed the
case; for big blue Rasper had interfered with the great dog in the
performance of his duty, and suffered accordingly.

Spring passed into summer; and the excitement as to the event of
the approaching Trials, when at length the rivals would be pitted
against one another, reached such a height as old Jonas Maddox,
the octogenarian, could hardly recall.

Down in the Sylvester Arms there was almost nightly a conflict
between M'Adam and Tammas Thornton, spokesman of the Dales
men. Many a long-drawn bout of words had the two anent the
respective merits and Cup chances of red and gray. In these duels
Tammas was usually worsted. His temper would get the better of