“Ye'll niver have sich anither chanst.”
“Nor niver wush to. Na, na; he'll never mak' a sheep-dog”; and the little man turned up the collar of his coat.
“Will he not?” cried the other scornfully. “There niver yet was one o' that line—” he stopped abruptly.
The little man spun round.
“Iss?” he said, as innocent as any child; “ye were sayin'?”
The other turned to the window and watched the rain falling monotonously.
“Ye'll be wantin' wet,” he said adroitly.
“Ay, we could do wi' a drappin'. And he'll never mak' a sheep-dog.” He shoved his cap down on his head. “Weel, good-nicht to ye!” and he stepped out into the rain.
It was long after dark when the bargain was finally struck.