The great fellow advanced to the chair under which the puppy lay.
It leapt out like a lion, and fastened on his huge boot.

"A rare bred un, look 'ee! a rare game wi. Ma word, he's a
big-hearted un! Look at the back on him; see the jaws to him; mark
the pluck of him!" He shook his booted foot fiercely, tossing his
leg to and fro like a tree in a wind. But the little creature, now
raised ceilingward, now dashed to the ground, held on with
incomparable doggedness, till its small jaw was all bloody and
muzzle wrinkled with the effort.

"Ay, ay, that'll do," M'Adam interposed, irritably.

The drover ceased his efforts.

"Now, I'll mak' ye a last offer." He thrust his head down to a level
with the other's, shooting out his neck. "It's throwin' him at ye,
mind. 'Tain't buyin' him ye'll be-- don't go for to deceive yourself.
Ye may have him for fifteen shillin'. Why do I do it, ye ask? Why,
'cos I think ye'll be kind to him," as the puppy retreated to its chair,
leaving a spotted track of red along its route.

"Ay, ye wadna be happy gin ye thocht he'd no a comfortable hame,
conseederate man?" M'Adam answered, eyeing the dark track on
the floor. Then he put on his coat.

"Na, na, he's no for me. Weel, I'll no detain ye. Good-nicht to ye,
mister!" and he made for the door.

"A gran' worker he'll be," called the drover after him.