one evening when it was
almost dark, James Moore, going the round of the outbuildings, felt Owd
Bob stiffen against his side.

"What's oop, lad" he whispered, halting; and, dropping his hand on the
old dog's neck felt a ruff of rising hair beneath it.

"Steady, lad, steady," he whispered; "what is 't?" He peered forward
into the gloom; and at length discerned a little familiar figure huddled
away in the crevice between two stacks.

"It's yo, is it, M'Adam?" he said, and, bending, seized a wisp of Owd
Bob's coat in a grip like a vice.

Then, in a great voice, moved to rare anger:

"Oot o' this afore I do ye a hurt, ye meeserable spyin' creetur" he
roared. "Yo' mun wait till dark cooms to hide yo', yo' coward, afore yo
daur coom crawlin' aboot ma hoose, frightenin' the women-folk and up to
yer devilments. If yo've owt to say to me, coom like a mon in the open
day. Noo git aff wi' yo', afore I lay hands to yo'!"

He stood there in the dusk, tall and mighty, a terrible figure, one hand
pointing to the gate, the other still grasping the gray dog.

The little man scuttled away in the half-light, and out of the yard.

On the plank-bridge he turned and shook his fist at the darkening house.

"Curse ye, James Moore!" he sobbed, "I'll be even wi' ye yet."

Chapter XV. DEATH ON THE MARCHES

ON the top of this there followed an attempt to poison Th' Owd Un. At
least there was no other accounting for the affair.

In the dead of a long-remembered night James Moore was waked by a low
moaning beneath his room. He leapt out of bed and ran to the window to
see his favorite dragging about the moonlit yard, the dark head
down, the proud tail for once lowered, the lithe limbs wooden, heavy,
unnatural--altogether pitiful.

In a moment he was downstairs and out to his friend's assistance.
"Whativer is't, Owd Un?" he cried in anguish.

At the sound of that dear voice the old dog tried to struggle to him,
could not, and fell, whimpering.

In a second the Master was with him, examining him tenderly, and crying
for Sam'l, who slept above the stables.

There was every symptom of foul play: the tongue was swollen and almost
black; the breathing labored; the body twitched horribly; and the soft
gray eyes all bloodshot and straining in agony.

With the aid of Sam'l and Maggie, drenching first and stimulants after,
the Master pulled him around for the moment. And soon Jim Mason and
Parson Leggy, hurriedly summoned, came ru