"What d'ye ken o' this, David?" he asked, at length, in a dry thin voice, reaching forward in his chair.
"O' this," holding up the slip. "And ye'el. obleege me by the truth for once."
David turned, took up the paper, read it, and laughed harshly.
"It's coom to this, has it?" he said, still laughing, and yet with blanching face.
"Ye ken what it means. I daresay ye pit it there; aiblins writ it. Ye'll explain it." The little man spoke in the same small, even voice, and his eyes never moved off his son's face.
"lye heard naethin'. . . . I'd like the truth, David, if ye can tell it."
The boy smiled a forced, unnatural smile, looking from his father to the paper in his hand.
"Yo' shall have it, but yo'll not like it. It's this: Tupper lost a sheep to the Killer last night."
