“Just wait till I'm thro' wi' 'em, will yo'?” shouted the Master, seeing the danger.
It was a request which, according to the etiquette of shepherding, one man was bound to grant another. But M'Adam rushed on regardless, dancing and gesticulating. Save for the lightning vigilance of Owd Bob, the flock must have broken.
“I think yo' might ha' waited!” remonstrated the Master, as the little man burst his way through.
“Noo, I've forgot somethin'!” the other cried, and back he started as he had gone.
It was more than human nature could tolerate.
“Bob, keep him off!”
A flash of teeth; a blaze of gray eyes; and the old dog had leapt forward to oppose the little man's advance.
“Shift oot o' ma light!” cried he, striving to dash past.
“Hold him, lad!”
And hold him the old dog did, while his master opened the gate and put the flock through, the opponents dodging in front of one another like opposing three-quarter-backs at the Rugby game.