The other turned to the window and watched the rain falling monotonously.
"Ye'll be wantin' wet," he said adroitly.
"Ay, we could do wi' a drappin'. And he'll never mak' a sheep-dog." He shoved his cap down on his head. "Weel, good-nicht to ye!" and he stepped out into the rain.
It was long after dark when the bargain was finally struck.
Adam M'Adam's Red Wull became that little man's property for the following realizable assets: ninepence in cash--three coppers and a doubtful sixpence; a plug of suspicious tobacco in a well-worn pouch; and an old watch.
"It's clean givin' 'im ye," said the stranger bitterly, at the end of the deal.
"It's mair the charity than aught else mak's me sae leeberal," the other answered gently. "I wad not like to see ye pinched."
"Thank ye kindly," the big man replied with some acerbity, and plunged out into the darkness and rain. Nor was that long-limbed drover-man ever again seen in the countryside. And the puppy's previous history--. whether he was honestly come by or no, whether he was, indeed, of the famous Red McCulloch* strain, ever remained a mystery in the Daleland.