The facts that most impressed Bowden at the moment were certain loads of lime and sand, together with granite boulders, water-worn, from the stream bed close at hand. Materials for his house were already collected and the building of it was to begin during the following week. It would need five or six months to finish, and Bowden proposed to be married and settled in his future home before another Christmas came. While he sat here now, slowly, stolidly planning the future and waiting for Margaret to meet him, certain black-faced, horned sheep approached, drew up at a safe distance and lifted their yellow eyes to him inquiringly. David returned their regard with interest, for they were his own. Presently came Margaret and he kissed her, then pointed with satisfaction to the preparations. "They’ve kept their word, you see. Next week our house is to be started. There’s a good bit of pulling down to do first, however. And Sir Guy have given way about that ruined spot t’other side the stream. It’s going to be built again for a lew place for stock; and I’m to pay two pound a year more rent." "’Twill be good for the kennel," said Madge. "Rhoda tells me as you’ll have five or six dogs at the least for her to watch over, not counting ’Silky’ here." ’Silky’ had grown from puppyhood into adolescence. He was now a beautiful but a spoiled spaniel, who never wandered far from his mistress. Bowden looked down and shook his head at ’Silky,’ where he sat with his nose between his fore-paws at Margaret’s feet. "A good dog ruined," he said. "If you was to do the proper thing, you’d let me shoot it. ’Twill never be any manner of use here." "He’ll be of use to me, David. I should miss him cruel now." "God send you don’t bring up the childer so, when they come, Madge." "No childer of yours will ever be spoilt," she said. "I hope not. And I hope they don’t prove of wayward nature; for that sort’s a thorn in the parent’s side. Take Dorcas now--so different to the rest of us as you can think. Light-minded and a chatterer--colour and mind both different. I hope as I’ll never have a red child, Madge." "I’m very fond of Dorcas. She’s the happiest of you all, anyway--light-minded or not. Only her father sees her good points. I don’t think, David, that you rate her high enough." "I know her very well--light-minded and a laugher," he repeated. "And now there’s that insolent chap, Screech, after her; and he had the cheek to talk to faither and mother about it, and offer to take her--a beggarly man, with none to say a good word for him--a man that have lived on his widowed mother all his days, and haven’t even got regular work, but picks up an uneven living where he can." "What did your father answer?"