“Ha! ha! Ye teekle me, little mon. Found 'im? Nay; I was give 'im by a friend. But there's nowt amiss wi' his breedin', ye may believe me.”
The great fellow advanced to the chair under which the puppy lay. It leapt out like a lion, and fastened on his huge boot.
“A rare bred un, look 'ee! a rare game un. Ma word, he's a big-hearted un! Look at the back on him; see the jaws to him; mark the pluck of him!” He shook his booted foot fiercely, tossing his leg to and fro like a tree in a wind. But the little creature, now raised ceilingward, now dashed to the ground, held on with incomparable doggedness, till its small jaw was all bloody and muzzle wrinkled with the effort.
“Ay, ay, that'll do,” M'Adam interposed, irritably.
The drover ceased his efforts.
“Now, I'll mak' ye a last offer.” He thrust his head down to a level with the other's, shooting out his neck. “It's throwin' him at ye, mind. 'Tain't buyin' him ye'll be—don't go for to deceive yourself. Ye may have him for fifteen shillin'. Why do I do it, ye ask? Why, 'cos I think ye'll be kind to him,” as the puppy retreated to its chair, leaving a spotted track of red along its route.
“Ay, ye wadna be happy gin ye thocht he'd no a comfortable hame, conseederate man?” M'Adam answered, eyeing the dark track on the floor. Then he put on his coat.
“Na, na, he's no for me. Weel, I'll no detain ye. Good-nicht to ye, mister!” and he made for the door.
“A gran' worker he'll be,” called the drover after him.
“Ay; muckle wark he'll mak' amang the sheep wi' sic a jaw and sic a temper. Weel, I maun be steppin'. Good-nicht to ye.”