and vengeful, like a beaten cat.

The Master concluded his speech by calling on all present to give three
cheers for the squire, her ladyship, and the young ladies.

The call was responded to enthusiastically, every man standing. Just as
the noise was at its zenith, Lady Eleanour herself, with her two fair
daughters, glided into the gallery at the end of the hall; whereat the
cheering became deafening.

Slowly the clamor subsided. One by one the tenants sat down. At length
there was left standing only one solitary figure--M 'Adam.

His face was set, and he gripped the chair in front of him with thin,
nervous hands.

"Mr. Sylvester," he began in low yet clear voice, "ye said this is a
free country and we're a' free men. And that bein' so, I'll tak' the
liberty, wi' yer permission, to say a word. It's maybe the last time
I'll be wi' ye, so I hope ye'll listen to me."

The Dalesmen looked surprised, and the squire uneasy. Nevertheless he
nodded assent.

The little man straightened himself. His face was tense as though
strung up to a high resolve. All the passion had fled from it, all
the bitterness was gone; and left behind was a strange, enobling
earnestness. Standing there in the silence of that great hall, with
every eye upon him, he looked like some prisoner at the bar about to
plead for his life.

"Gentlemen," he began, "I've bin amang ye noo a score years, and I can
truly say there's not a man in this room I can ca' 'Friend.'" He looked
along the ranks of upturned faces. "Ay, David, I see ye, and you, Mr.
Hornbut, and you, Mr. Sylvester--ilka one o' you, and not one as'd back
me like a comrade gin a trouble came upon me." There was no rebuke in
the grave little voice--it merely stated a hard fact.

"There's I doot no one amang ye but has some one--friend or blood--wham
he can turn to when things are sair wi' him. I've no one.

"'I bear alane my lade o' care'--alane wi' Wullie, who stands to me,
blaw or snaw, rain or shine. And whiles I'm feared he'll be took from
me." He spoke this last half to himself, a grieved, puzzled expression
on his face, as though lately he had dreamed some ill dream.

"Forbye Wuilie, I've no friend on God's earth. And, mind ye, a bad man
aften mak's a good friend--but ye've never given me the chance. It's a
sair thing that, gentlemen, to ha' to fight the battle o' life alane: no
one to pat ye on th' back, no one to say 'Weel done.' It hardly gies
a man a chance. For gin he does