On the gate by the stile, as the party came up, sat M'Adam.
“I've a word to say to you, James Moore,” he announced, as the Master approached.
“Say it then, and quick. I've no time to stand gossipin' here, if yo' have,” said the Master.
M'Adam strained forward till he nearly toppled off the gate.
“Queer thing, James Moore, you should be the only one to escape this Killer.”
“Yo' forget yoursel', M'Adam.”
“Ay, there's me,” acquiesced the little man. “But you—hoo d'yo' 'count for your luck?”
James Moore swung round and pointed proudly at the gray dog, now patrolling round the flock.
“There's my luck!” he said.
M'Adam laughed unpleasantly.