Then, in bantering tones: “Ah, but ye shouldna covet ----” “He'll ha' no need to covet it long, I can tell yo',” interposed Tammas's shrill accents. “And why for no?” “Becos next year he'll win it fra yo'. Oor Bob'll win it, little mon. Why? thot's why.” The retort was greeted with a yell of applause from the sprinkling of Dalesmen in the crowd. But M'Adam swaggered away into the tent, his head up, the Cup beneath his arm, and Red Wull guarding his rear. “First of a' ye'll ha' to beat Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull!” he cried back proudly. Chapter XI. OOR BOB M'ADAM'S pride in the great Cup that now graced his kitchen was supreme. It stood alone in the very centre of the mantelpiece, just below the old bell-mouthed blunderbuss that hung upon the wall. The only ornament in the bare room, it shone out in its silvery chastity like the moon in a gloomy sky. For once the little man was content. Since his mother's death David had never known such peace. It was not that his father became actively kind; rather that he forgot to be actively unkind. “Not as I care a brazen button one way or t'ither,” the boy informed Maggie. “Then yo' should,” that proper little person replied. M'Adam was, indeed, a changed being. He forgot to curse James Moore; he forgot to sneer at Owd Bob; he rarely visited the Sylvester Arms, to the detriment of Jem Burton's pocket and temper; and he was never drunk. “Soaks 'isseif at home, instead,” suggested Tammas, the prejudiced. But the accusation was untrue. “Too drunk to git so far,” said Long Kirby, kindly man. “I reck'n the Cup is kind o' company to him,” said Jim Mason. “Happen it's lonesomeness as drives him here so much.” And happen you were right, charitable Jim. “Best mak' maist on it while he has it, 'cos he'll not have it for long,” Tammas remarked amid applause. Even Parson Leggy allowed--rather reluctantly, indeed, for he was but human--that the little man was changed wonderfully for the better. “But I am afraid it may not last,” he said. “We shall see what happens when Owd Bob beats him for the Cup, as he certainly will. That'll be the critical moment.” As things were, the little man spent all his spare moments with the Cup between his knees, burnishing it and crooning to Wullie: “I never saw a fairer, I never lo'ed a dearer, And neist my heart I'll wear her, For fear my jewel tine.” “There, Wullie! look at her! is she no bonnie? She shines like a twinkle--twinkle in the sky.” And he would hold it out at arm's length, his head cocked sideways the better to scan its bright beauties. The little man was very jealous for his treasure. David might not touch it; might not smoke in the kitchen lest the fumes should tarnish its glory; while if he approached too closely he was ordered abruptly away. “As if I wanted to touch his nasty Cup!” he complained to Maggie. “I'd sooner ony day--”