asture
were two fine fat bullocks. Dicky paused to look, and the more he
looked, the more he admired; the more he admired, the more he coveted.
They were magnificent beasts, seldom had he seen finer; nothing could
better suit his purpose. Such beasts would fetch a high price
anywhere--they _must_ be his. So, with what patience he could command,
till darkness should come to his aid, Dicky discreetly retired to a
neighbouring copse, where, himself unseen, he might feast his eyes on
the fat cattle, and at the same time make sure that if they did happen
to be removed from that particular pasture, at least he would not be
ignorant of their whereabouts. But the bullocks fed on undisturbed. No
one came to remove them; only their owner stood regarding them for a
while. Darkness fell, and the call of an owl that hooted eerily, or the
distant wail of a curlew, alone broke the stillness. Then up came
Dicky's best friend, a moon but little past the full. Everything was in
his favour, not a hitch of any kind occurred; quietly and without any
fuss the great fat beasts began to make their slow way west across the
hills for Cumberland.

Morning came, bringing with it a great hue and cry on that farm bereft
of its fat cattle, and things might chance to have fared ill with Dicky
had he not adroitly contrived to lay a false trail, that headed the
furious owner in hasty pursuit north, towards Tweed and Scotland.
Meanwhile, in due time--not for worlds would Dicky have overdriven
them--the bullocks and their driver found themselves in Cumberland, near
by Lanercost. There, as they picked their leisurely way along, they
encountered an old farmer riding a bay mare, the like of which for
quality Dicky had never seen. His mouth watered.

"Where be'st gangin' wi' the nowt?" asked the farmer.

"Oh, to Carlisle," said Dicky.

"Wad ye sell?"

"Oh aye!" answered Dicky. "For a price. But the beasts are good."

"Yes, they were good," admitted the farmer. And Dicky must come in, and
have a drink, and they'd talk about the oxen. So in they went to the
farmer's house, and long they talked, and the more they talked the more
the farmer wanted those bullocks; but the more he wanted them the more
he tried to beat Dicky down. But Dicky was in no haste to sell; he could
do better at Carlisle, said he; and the upshot, of course, was that he
got the price he asked. And then said Dicky, when the money was paid,
and they had had another drink or two, and a mi