Once more Oscar barked, but it was with a ring of joy and pleasure.
"Oh, Donald, is that yourself?"
"To be surely, boy, to be surely; and is it you, my dear lad Creggan?"
"Oh, I am so glad you've come! This is my friend Mr. Nugent, and we're lost, you know."
"Well, well, well, but it isn't long lost you'll be whatefer. Sure I know the sheepies' tracks, and can guide you safely to my hut.
"Ay," he continued, "and it's as dead as braxie you'd have been 'fore mornin' if I hadn't been out lookin' for a sheepie."
How gladly they followed him need not be told, and how delighted they were to find themselves seated once more in front of a fire of wood and peats.
Donald hastened to make supper—oatmeal porridge and milk. Though eaten from caups[[2]] and with horn spoons, Nugent told the old shepherd that he had never supped more sumptuously in his life.
[[2]] Round, strong, wooden bowls.
Then Donald himself sat down, and while the two collies fraternized in a corner, the men folks had a long and enjoyable conversation.