Weary work it was in sooth, and much did he deplore the laws that made
it binding upon one of gentle blood to thus demean himself. He listened
to the mournful sound of the waves on the shore, broken sometimes by the
bleating of a restless sheep in the fold. Soon he began to feel his
eyelids getting very heavy, and he sought about for a soft bed of
heather to lie down upon for a while. As he was about to curl himself up
-- trusting that if any night-prowling beast should come to play havoc
among the farm stock the noise of the sheep and goats would surely
awaken him -- he heard footsteps approaching.
"So, my young watchdog," said the voice of the farmer Blair, "you have
bethought yourself of your charge at last, eh? Well is it for you that
you have not neglected my sheep this night as you did last. No more
shall you send that sleepy-headed lad Lulach to be your proxy, for his
sleeping cost me the life of one of my best ewe lambs. So look you well
to your charge now. Here is a cake of bread to keep you from hunger, and
a flagon of good posset to keep you warm -- 'tis your nightly allowance.
And if it so be that you get drowsy, why, sing yourself a song as do the
shipmen in their night watches. But mind you this, young Kilmory, that
for every beast I lose through the slaying of my dog, your father, Sir
Oscar Redmain, shall pay me another of equal value.
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