Other people than Tammas Thornton came to the conclusion that M'Adam would stop at nothing in the undoing of James Moore or the gray dog. They said drink and disappointment had turned his head; that he was mad and dangerous. And on New Year's day matters seemed coming to a crisis; for it was reported that in the gloom of a snowy evening he had drawn a knife on the Master in the High Street, but slipped before he could accomplish his fell purpose.
Most of them all, David was haunted with an ever-present anxiety as to the little man's intentions. The boy even went so far as to warn his friend against his father. But the Master only smiled grimly.
"Thank ye, lad," he said. "But I reck'n we can 'fend for oorsel's, Bob and I. Eh, Owd Un?"Anxious as David might be, he was not so anxious as to be above taking a mean advantage of this state of strained apprehension to work on Maggie's fears.
One evening he was escorting her home from church, when, just before they reached the larch copse: "Goo' sakes! What's that?" he ejaculated in horror-laden accents, starting back.
"What, Davie?" cried the girl, shrinking up to him all in a tremble.
"Couldna say for sure. It mought be owt, or agin it mought be nowt. But yo' grip my arm, I'll grip yo' waist."Maggie demurred.
"Canst see onythin'?" she asked, still in a flutter.
"Be'ind the 'edge."
"Wheer?"
"Theer! "--pointing vaguely.
"I canna see nowt."
"Why, theer, lass. Can yo' not see? Then yo' pit your head along o'
mine--so---closer---- closer." Then, in aggrieved tones: "Whativer is the matter wi' yo', wench? I might be a leprosy."But the girl was walking away with her head high as the snow-capped Pike.
"So long as I live, David M'Adam," she cried, "I'll niver go to church wi' you agin!""Iss, but you will though-.-onst," he answered low.
Maggie whisked round in a flash, superbly indignant.
"What d'yo' mean, sir-r-r?"
"Yo' know what I mean, lass," he replied sheepish and shuffling before her queenly anger.
She looked him up and down, and down and up again.
"I'll niver speak to you agin, Mr. M'Adam, she cried; "not if it was ever so--Nay, I'll walk home by myself, thank you. I'll ha' nowt to do wi' you."So the two must return to Kenmuir, one behind the other, like a lady and her footman..
David's audacity had more than once already all but caused a rupture between the pair. And the occurrence behind the hedge set the cap on his impertinences. That was past enduring and Maggie by her bearing let him know it.
David tolerated the girl's new attitude for exactly twelve minutes by the kitchen clock. Then: "Sulk wi' me, indeed! I'll teach her!"and he marched out of the door, "Niver to cross it agin, ma word!"Afterward, however, he relented so far as to continue his visits as before; but he made. it clear that he only came to see the Master and hear of Owd Bob's doings. On these occasions he loved best to sit on the window-sill outside the kitchen, and talk and chaff with Tammas and the men in the yard, feigning an uneasy bashfulness was reference made to Bessie Boistock. And after sitting thus for some time, he would half turn, look over his.
the girl within: "Oh, good-evenin'! I forgot yo', "--and then resume his conversation. While the girl within, her face a little pinker, her lips a little tighter, and her chin a little higher, would go about her business, pretending neither to hear nor care.
The suspicions that M'Adam nourished dark designs against James Moore were somewhat confirmed in that, on several occasions in the bitter dusks of January afternoons, a little insidious figure was reported to have been seen lurking among the farm-buildings of Kenmuir.
Once Sam'l Todd caught the little man fairly, skulking away in the woodshed. Sam'l took him up bodily and carried him down the slope to the Wastrel, shaking him gently as he went.
Across the stream he put him on his feet.
"If I catches yo' cadgerin' aroun' the farm agin, little mon," he admonished, holding up a warning finger; "I'll tak' yo' and drap yo'
in t' Sheep-wash, I warn yo' fair. I'd ha' done it noo an' yo'd bin a bigger and a younger mon. But theer! yo'm sic a scrappety bit.
Noo, nfl whoam." And the little man slunk silently away.
For a time he appeared there no more. Then, one evening when it was almost dark, James Moore, going the round of the outbuildings, felt Owd Bob stiffen against his side.
and, dropping his hand on the old dog's neck felt a ruff of rising hair beneath it.
"Steady, lad, steady," he whispered; "what is 't?" He peered forward into the gloom; and at length discerned a little familiar figure huddled away in the crevice between two stacks.
"It's yo, is it, M'Adam?" he said, and, bending, seized a wisp of Owd Bob's coat in a grip like a vice.
Then, in a great voice, moved to rare anger. "Oot o' this afore I do ye a hurt, ye meeserable spyin' creeturt" he roared. "Yo' mun wait.
till dark cooms to hide yo', yo' coward, afore yo daur coom crawlin'
aboot ma hoose, frightenin' the women-folk and up to yer devilments. If yo've owt to say to me, coom like a mon in the open day. Noo git aff wi' yo', afore I lay hands to yo'!"He stood there in the dusk, tall and mighty, a terrible figure, one hand pointing to the gate, the other still grasping the gray dog.
The little man scuttled away in the halflight, and out of the yard.
On the plank-bridge he turned and shook his fist at the darkening house.
"Curse ye, James Moore!" he sobbed, "I'll be even wi' ye yet."
