"I will if you will yours," the Master answered grimly.
"Na," the little man replied, "it's Wullie as frichts the Killer aff the Grange. That's why I've left him there noo."
"It's the same wi' me," the Master said. He's not come to Kenmuir yet, nor he'll not so long as Th' Owd Un's loose, I reck'n."
"Loose or tied, for the matter o' that," the little man rejoined, "Kenmuir'll escape." He 'made the statement dogmatically, snapping his lips.
"Ha' ye no heard what they're sayin'?" the little man inquired with raised eyebrows.
"Why, that the mere repitation o' th' best sheep-dog in the North' should keep him aff. An' I guess they're reet," and he laughed shrilly as he spoke.
"Which road are ye gaein' hame?" M'Adam called after him. "Because," with a polite smile, "I'll tak' t'ither."
"I'm off by the Windy Brae," the Master answered, striding on. "Squire asked me to 'leave a note wi' his shepherd t'other side o' the Chair." So he headed away to the left, making for home by the route along the Silver Mere.