"Another lucky dog like myself!" mused Will, as his long strides carried him up the bank to the sail-shed.
"Who were the boys?" asked Hugh Morgan, looking down at the frightened, shivering dog. "Ah, Shân Pentraeth's! Well, none of you boys are to play with them for a week; d'ye hear?"
"Or goren,[[8]] Mishteer," came in answer from ten or a dozen boys working together at one end of the shed.
Hugh Morgan having made a bed for the dog on a coil of ropes, turned once more to the doorway as Deio Pantgwyn appeared leading a horse and cart.
"Where's your waggon and two horses?" asked the Mishteer, with a darkening look on his face, which his work-people all knew betokened a storm.
"Wel, Mishteer, Cymro hurt his leg last night, and he was limping this morning, so I could not bring him; but it's all right, Flower can easily take the load herself."
"Stop, Deio; didn't you tell Ivor Parry last night that we ought to have three horses? and now you want one to take the load! Go home again, and learn that no one who works for me shall be cruel to any animal——"
"But I thought the sails must be on the quay to-day?"
"So they ought; and you will put me to great expense, and Captain Morris to great inconvenience; but that horse shall not carry that load—so off you go!"
Deio stormed and swore; but the Mishteer was inexorable, and, turning to Ivor, said: