Tammas looked slowly up at the little mob of eager faces above
him. Pride at the sensation caused by his news struggled in his
countenance with genuine sorrow for the matter of it.

"Ay, yo' may well 'earken all on yo'. Tis enough to mak' the deadies
listen. I says agin: We's'll no rin oor Bob fot' Cup. And yo' may
guess why. Bain't every mon, Mr. M'Adam, as'd pit aside his chanst
o' the Cup, and that 'maist a gift for him"--M'Adam's tongue was in
his cheek--" and it a certainty," the old man continued warmly,
"oot o' respect for his wife's memory."

The news was received in utter silence. The shock of the surprise,
coupled with the bitterness of the disappointment, froze the slow
tongues of his listeners.

Only one small voice broke the stillness.

"Oh, the feelin' man! He should git a reduction o' rent for sic a
display o' proper speerit. I'll mind Mr. Hornbut to let auld Sylvester
ken o't."

Which he did, and would have got a thrashing for his pains had not
Cyril Gilbraith thrown him out of the parsonage before the angry
cleric could lay hands upon him.

Chapter X. RED WULL WINS

TAMMAS had but told the melancholy truth. Owd Bob was not to
run for the cup. And this self-denying ordinance speaks more for