Bob, son of Battle . ising hairbeneath it. Steady, lad, steady, he whispered; what ist? i38 A MAD MAN He peered forward into the gloom; and at length discerneda little familiar figure huddled away in the crevice betweentwo stacks. Its yo, is it, MAdam? he said, and, bending, seizeda wisp of Owd Bobs coat in a grip like a vise. Then, in a great voice, moved to rare anger: Oot o this afore I do ye a hurt, ye meeserable spyincreetur! he roared. Yo mun wait till dark cooms tohide yo, yo coward, afore yo daur coom crawlin abootma hoose, frightenin the women-folk and up to yer devil-ments. If yove o
Bob, son of Battle . ising hairbeneath it. Steady, lad, steady, he whispered; what ist? i38 A MAD MAN He peered forward into the gloom; and at length discerneda little familiar figure huddled away in the crevice betweentwo stacks. Its yo, is it, MAdam? he said, and, bending, seizeda wisp of Owd Bobs coat in a grip like a vise. Then, in a great voice, moved to rare anger: Oot o this afore I do ye a hurt, ye meeserable spyincreetur! he roared. Yo mun wait till dark cooms tohide yo, yo coward, afore yo daur coom crawlin abootma hoose, frightenin the women-folk and up to yer devil-ments. If yove owt to say to me, coom like a mon in theopen day. Noo git afF wi yo, afore I lay hands to yo! He stood there in the dusk, tall and mighty, a terriblefigure, one hand pointing to the gate, the other stillgrasping the gray dog. The little man scuttled away in the half-light, and outof the yard. On the plank-bridge he turned and shook his fist at thedarkening house. Curse ye, James Moore! he sobbed, Ill be even wiye CHAPTER XV DEATH ON THE MARSHES ,N THE top of this there followed an attempt to poisonTh Owd Un. At least there was no other account-ing for the affair. In the dead of a long-remembered night James Moorewas waked by a low moaning beneath his room. He leaptout of bed and ran to the window to see his favourite drag-ging about the moonlit yard, the dark head down, theproud tail for once lowered, the lithe limbs wooden, heavy,unnatural—altogether pitiful. In a moment he was downstairs and out to his friendsassistance. Whativer ist, .Owd Un? he cried inanguish. At the sound of that dear voice the old dog tried tostruggle to him, could not, and fell whimpering. In a second the Master was with him, examining himtenderly, and crying for Saml, who slept above thestables. 139 i4o DEATH ON THE MARSHES There was every symptom of foul play: the tongue wasswollen and almost black; the breathing laboured; thebody twitched horribly; and the soft gray eyes all blood-shot and str
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