It was a calm evening and Osborn sat on the terrace, studying a printed notice. Mrs. Osborn poured out coffee at a small table, and Gerald and Grace occupied the top of the broad steps to the lawn. The sun was low, the air was cool, and except for the soft splash of a beck, a deep quietness brooded over the dale.

"It will be a good show," Osborn remarked, reaching for a cup. "I insisted on the rather early date, because if we had waited until the hay was in, we might have got wet weather. Two or three objected, but I'm satisfied I took the proper line. One must be firm with an argumentative committee."

Gerald's eyes twinkled as he looked at Grace. Osborn generally was firm with people who gave way, and Gerald had heard some grumbling about his changing the date for the horse show.

"It's the last time I'll be president," Osborn resumed. "I had meant to resign, but Thorn could not take the post, Sir George is away, and a well-known local man is needed to give the thing a proper start."

"Rather an expensive honor!" Gerald observed. "The president's expected to make up the shortage if the day is wet."

"That was one reason for my fixing the meeting early, when we often get it fine," Osborn replied naÏvely. "The expense is a drawback, but the committee would not let me drop out."

"Mother and Grace will want new hats and clothes, and I expect the job will cost you more than you think. You'll have to give them a lead by bidding for the chapel sheep."

"If that meddlesome fellow Drysdale is going to send his sheep to the show, the arrangement was made without my knowing," Osborn replied angrily.

Mrs. Osborn looked disturbed, but Gerald laughed. He rather enjoyed provoking his father when he thought it safe. Drysdale was treasurer for a body of Nonconformists, who wanted to build a new chapel and, finding the farmers reluctant to give money, had asked for contributions from their flocks and herds.

"The idea was that the sale would be an extra attraction," Gerald went on. "Still, I admit it's hard for you, because you hate chapels and will have to bid. In fact, you'll, no doubt, have to buy the sheep at a sentimental price and sell them at their value."

"I believe in liberty of conscience and do not hate chapels," Osborn rejoined. "For all that, I own to a natural prejudice against people who attend such places, largely because they mix up their religious and political creeds. It would be strange if I sympathized with their plans for robbing the landlords."

"Anyhow, Drysdale means to bring his flock, and I'm afraid you'll have to pay. The situation has some humor."

Osborn knitted his brows. Hayes had been talking to him about the estate accounts and he had resolved to practise stern economy. Economy was needful, unless he gave a fresh mortgage to pay the interest on his other debts; and here was an expense he had not bargained for.

"If I'd known about Drysdale, I'd have resigned," he said. "I took the post again because there was nobody else."

"They might have tried Askew," Gerald suggested.

"Askew? A fellow of no importance, unknown outside the dale!"

"I imagine he'll be better known soon, and he's rather a good sort. Gave me a very good lunch not long since and has obviously spent something on the farm. His room is like a museum, and he has a number of valuable things. Seems to have had some adventures abroad, and found them profitable."

"You mean he tried to impress you by vague boasting?"

"No," said Gerald, "I don't think he did; the fellow's not that kind. In fact, he's rather good form, and has somehow got the proper stamp."

Grace looked at her brother, as if she agreed; but Osborn remarked ironically, "You imagine yourself a judge?"

"Oh, well," said Gerald, smiling, "I've had the advantage of being brought up at Tarnside, and belong to a good London club. Anyhow, Askew's much less provincial than some of our exclusive friends."

He strolled off and Osborn went to the library, where he spent some time studying his accounts. The calculations he made were disturbing and he resented the possibility of his being forced to help Drysdale's fund. Nevertheless, the president of the show would be expected to lead the bidding and the Osborns did things properly.

A week or two afterwards, Mrs. Osborn opened the show in a field by the market-town, which stood in a hollow among the moors. The grass sloped to a river that sparkled in the sun and then vanished in the alders' shade. Across the stream, old oak and ash trees rolled up the side of the Moot Hill, and round the latter gray walls and roofs showed among the leaves. A spire and a square, ivy-covered tower rose above the faint blue haze of smoke. A few white clouds floated in the sky and their cool shadows crept slowly across the field.

The horses were not very numerous, but the show had other attractions and was an excuse for a general holiday. The crowd was larger than usual, Mrs. Osborn's nervous speech was cheered, and for a time Osborn forgot that the office he had taken might cost him something. He was carrying out a duty he owed the neighborhood and felt that he could do so better than anybody else. He did not admit that he liked to take the leading place.

His first annoyance came with the sheep-dog trials. He had not known Askew was a competitor and frowned as he saw Grace go up to him when a flock of Herdwicks entered the field. The girl ought to have seen that it was not the proper thing for his daughter to proclaim her acquaintance with the fellow. Then Gerald followed her, and began talking to Askew as if he knew him well. Gerald, was of course, irresponsibly eccentric, but his folly jarred.

Grace had found it needful to get a new dress and hat, and Kit thrilled and tried to hide his delight in her beauty as she advanced. His rough-coated dog ran to meet her and she stroked its shaggy head.

"I hope Bob is going to win," she remarked.

"It's doubtful," Kit replied. "He's clever, but they don't give us much time and he's getting slow. One or two of his rivals are very good."

"You'll do your best, old Bob," said Grace, and the dog, looking up at her with friendly eyes, beat his tail on the ground.

Then Gerald came up, and soon afterwards the judges tied a string to a farmer's leg and fastened the other end to a post. This allowed him to run a short distance, after which he must direct his dog by voice.

"First trial, Mr. Forsyth's Merry Lad," a steward announced, and the crowd gathered round when the judge took out his watch.

Furze bushes had been stuck into the ground to simulate a broken hedge. Beyond these was a row of hurdles with an open gate, and then a number of obstacles, while a railed pen occupied a corner of the field. Kit gave Grace a card showing the way the sheep must be driven round the different barriers.

"It's a good test, particularly as we can't follow the dogs and they must take each obstacle in its proper turn."

"They are wonderfully clever to understand," said Grace, and stopped when the judge shouted, "Time!"

The farmer called his dog, a handsome smooth-haired collie, that set off with a bound and drove the sheep at full speed towards the furze. As they came up, with fleeces shaking and a patter of little feet, the man ran to the length of the string and waved his stick.

"Away back! Gan away back! T'ither slap, ye fule!"

People laughed when the dog in desperate haste stopped the sheep as they packed outside a hole, but it drove them to the next gap, through which they streamed.

"Forrad! Gan forrad!" cried the farmer. "Head them, Merry Lad!"

The dog turned the sheep and brought them back through another opening, after which they raced towards the hurdles, and the collie hesitated as if puzzled by its master's shouts. The sheep were near the end of the rails, but it was not the end the card indicated. Then the dog seemed to understand what was required, and circling round the flock with swift, graceful leaps, drove them along the hurdles and round the other end.

There was some applause from the crowd and afterwards good-humored banter when the dog ran backwards and forwards at a loss. The animal obviously knew the flock must be taken round the remaining obstacles, but had only its master's shouts for guide to the order in which they must be passed. Sometimes the farmer got angry and sometimes laughed, but except for a mistake or two the collie drove the sheep in and out among the barriers as the card required and put them in the pen.

Two or three more trials took place, and for the most part, the unoccupied dogs strained at their leads and whimpered, but old Bob sat at Kit's feet, watching, with his head on one side.

"One can see he's thinking; I believe he wants to remember the right way round," Grace remarked, and smiled when a steward beckoned Kit. "It's your turn," she said. "I wish you good luck!"

Kit went off with his heart beating and felt half amused by his keenness when the steward tied the string to his leg. After his adventures on the Caribbean and the stakes he and Adam had played for, it was strange he should be eager to win a box of plated forks at a rustic show. Yet, he was eager; Grace had wished him luck.

"Number four; Mr. Askew's Old Bob!" the steward announced.

Kit called, and Bob, trotting away deliberately, got the sheep together and drove them correctly through the holes. He was doing well, in one sense, and Kit knew he would make few mistakes, but time counted and old Bob was slow. He had trouble at the hurdles, where the sheep seemed resolved to go the wrong way, but he stopped them and took them back to the proper end. Kit gave very few orders, although he looked at his watch rather anxiously. Bob understood and could be trusted to do his work, the trouble was he might not finish it in time. At length, Kit drew a deep breath, and put back his watch. The sheep were in the pen and there was a minute left.

Kit went back to Grace, and Bob trotted up, panting, with his tongue hanging out. He looked at Kit, as if for approval; and then, after wagging his tail when his master spoke, held up his paw to Grace.

"Hallo!" said Kit. "I haven't known him to do that before. It's not a sheepdog's trick."

"I taught him," Grace replied, with a touch of color. "He has not forgotten, and really deserves to be stroked."

She went away, but she gave Kit a smile across the railing, behind which she stood with Mrs. Osborn, when the judge called out:

"First prize, Number Four; Mr. Askew's Bob!"

When lunch was served in a big tent Osborn sat at the top of the table, but his satisfaction had vanished. For one thing, everybody had applauded when Askew won the prize; the fellow was obviously a favorite and this annoyed him. Then, Drysdale's sheep were to be sold by auction after lunch and the committee had hinted that the president was the proper person to buy the flock. Drysdale sat next to Kit at the bottom of the table. He was a little, shabbily-dressed man, with a brown face, and a twinkling smile.

"Where are the sheep?" Kit asked.

"We'll send t' band for them presently. Are you gan t' bid?"

"I don't know until I've seen them. What about their quality?"

"Weel, it might be better; they're gifts, you ken. There's a young ram might suit you; he's true Carlside strain."

"I don't know how you got him then. I can't see Mayson giving away good breeding stock."

Drysdale grinned. "Some big stanes fell on t' ram when Mayson was Bringing flock doon Barra ghyll. He looks a bit the waur o' it, but you can tell the Carlside blood."

"I'll see what I think about the animal," Kit said with a laugh. "Do you expect a good sale? The rich people, as a rule, go to church."

"They'll bid aw t' same. When you canna stir their generosity, you can try their pride. If you look at it one way, the thing's humorsome. They dinna want to help me, but they will."

"It's possible," Kit agreed. "I don't know if the plan's above suspicion, but you need the money."

"It will be weel spent. Hooiver, I must be off and see the band dinna get ower much to drink."

Drysdale went away and soon afterwards a strange procession headed by the band and guarded by children, entered the field. A row of geese, waddling solemnly in single file, came first, and then turkeys stalked among their broods; a boy led a handsome goat and long-legged calf, and in the rear straggled a flock of sheep. When all were driven into pens the sale began and the crowd laughed and bantered the men who bid. In the meantime, Kit examined the sheep. Some had faults and the ram had obviously suffered from its accident. It was clear, though, that it sprang from a famous stock, and Kit knew an animal transmits to its offspring inherited qualities and not acquired defects. He recognized the stamp of breeding and resolved to buy the sheep. The ram was worth much more than he imagined the shepherds thought.

He went back to the stand and by and by the auctioneer praised the flock.
When he stopped, there was silence for a few moments until Osborn nodded.

"A cautious beginning often makes a good ending, but we've a long way to go yet," the auctioneer remarked. "Who'll say five pounds more?"

Thorn made a sign, and the auctioneer raised his hammer. "We've got a start, but you must keep it up. The opportunity's what folks call unique; you'll save money by buying, and help a good cause. Don't know which will appeal to you, but you can pay your money, and take your choice."

He looked about while the crowd laughed, and after two or three flockmasters advanced the price, caught Kit's eye. "Mr. Askew's a judge of sheep. We'll call it ten pounds rise!"

Kit nodded, and Osborn glanced at Thorn, who shrugged. The latter had helped to start the bidding, which was all he meant to do, and Osborn would have tried to draw out after making another offer, had he not seen Kit. He did not want the sheep, although he was willing to buy them at something above their proper price. Now, however, Askew was his antagonist, the fellow must be beaten.

"We must finish the sale before the driving-matches," he said. "Go up twenty pounds."

"They'd not sell near it if you sent them to the market," a farmer remarked.

"Do you sell pedigree stock to butchers? The ram's worth the money," the auctioneer rejoined.

On the whole, Kit agreed, although he saw that others did not. Moreover he was willing to run some risk by helping Drysdale, whom he liked, and he signed to the auctioneer. The farmers stopped, but Osborn went on. He had not liked Peter Askew and liked Kit worse. Father and son had opposed him, and now the young upstart was proud of the money he had, no doubt, got by doubtful means. He would not let the fellow balk him, and his face got red as he answered the auctioneer's inquiring glance. Presently he turned with a frown as Hayes touched his arm.

"It's an extravagant price," the agent remarked. "They'll want a check and your account is getting very low."

"You'll have to cut down expenses, then," Osborn answered haughtily.
"This is not a matter about which I need your advice."

Hayes shrugged and Osborn nodded to the auctioneer when Kit made another bid. He felt hot and savage and wanted a drink, but could not leave the stand. Askew meant to humiliate him and he must hold out. He was the most important man in the neighborhood, and must not be beaten by a small farmer. For all that, the sum he would have to pay would be a drain.

After the next bid the auctioneer looked at Kit, who smiled and shook his head.

"Mr. Osborn takes the lot," the auctioneer remarked. "He has paid a high price to help a good object, but I think we all hope the next lambing season will give him his money back."

Osborn's savage satisfaction was spoiled by a chilling doubt and he went off to look for Hayes.

"Give the fellow a check for the sheep on the estate account," he said.

"How much?" Hayes asked, and looked thoughtful when Osborn told him.

"There are a number of bills to meet and we'll have no money coming in until term-day."

"Can't you put off the bills?"

"I think not," Hayes answered, meaningly. "It mightn't be prudent. Our credit is not too good."

Osborn was silent for a moment or two. "Very well," he said. "I'll try to sell the sheep to somebody who'll give me what they're really worth. Come over to-morrow and we'll talk about the new mortgage."

Then he went back, moodily, to join the judges for the driving-match.