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."
Chapter XV. DEATH ON THE MARCHES
ON the top of this there followed an attempt to poison Th' Owd Un. At least there was no other accounting for the affair.
In the dead of a long-remembered night James Moore was waked by a low moaning beneath his room. He leapt out of bed and ran to the window to see his favorite dragging about the moonlit yard, the dark head down, the proud tail for once lowered, the lithe limbs wooden, heavy, unnatural--altogether pitiful.
In a moment he was downstairs and out to his friend's assistance. "Whativer is't, Owd Un?" he cried in anguish.
At the sound of that dear voice the old dog tried to struggle to him, could not, and fell, whimpering.
In a second the Master was with him, examining him tenderly, and crying for Sam'l, who slept above the stables.