re, and bore himself accordingly. In
public or in private, in tap-room or market, he never wearied of abusing
his enemy.

"Feel the loss o' his wife, d'ye say?" he would cry. "Ay, as muckle as
I feel the loss o' my hair. James Moore can feel naethin', I tell ye,
except, aiblins, a mischance to his meeserable dog."

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."

The Tailless Tyke, indeed, had advanced from the fireplace, and now
stood, huge and hideous, in the very centre of the room. There was
distant thunder in his throat, a threat upon his face, a challenge in
every wrinkle. And the Gray Dog stole gladly out from behind his master
to take up the gage of battle.

Straightway there was silence; tongues ceased to wag, tankards to clink.
Every man and every dog was quietly gathering about those two central
figures. Not one of them all but had his score to wipe off against the
Tailless Tyke; not one of them but was burning to join in, the battle
once begun. And the two gladiators stood looking past one another,
muzzle to muzzle, each with a tiny flash of teeth glinting between his
lips.

But the fight was not to be; for the twentieth time the Master
intervened.

"Bob, lad, coom in!" he called, and, bending, grasped hi