File:Bob, son of Battle (1898) (14589910599).jpg

Identifier: bobsonofbattleolli (find matches)
Title: Bob, son of Battle
Year: 1898 (1890s)
Authors: Ollivant, Alfred, 1874-1927
Subjects:
Publisher: Garden City, N.Y. : Garden City Pub. Co.
Contributing Library: Information and Library Science Library, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill
Digitizing Sponsor: University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill

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and nextyear—we win. Come, Wullie, well leave em to chewthat; and he marched out of the room amid the jeers ofthe assembled topers. When quiet was restored, it wasJim Mason who declared: One thing certain, win or no,theyll not be far off. Meanwhile the summer ended abruptly. Hard on theheels of a sweltering autumn the winter came down. Inthat year the Daleland assumed very early its white cloak.The Silver Mere was soon ice-veiled; the Wastrel rolledsullenly down below Kenmuir, its creeks and quiet placestented with jagged sheets of ice; while the Scaur andMuir Pike raised hoary heads against the frosty blue. Itwas the season still remembered in the North as theWhite Winter—the worst, they say, since the famous 1808. For days together Jim Mason was stuck with his bagsin the Dalesmans Daughter, and there was no communi-cation between the two Dales. On the Mere Marches thesnow massed deep and impassable in thick, billowy drifts.In the Devils Bowl men said it lay piled some score feet
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During the terrible White Winter, sheep were buried and lost intheir hundreds. THE WHITE WINTER 63 deep. And sheep, seeking shelter in the ghylls and pro-tected spots, were buried and lost in their hundreds. That is the time to test the hearts of shepherds andsheep-dogs, when the wind runs ice-cold across the wasteof white, and the low woods on the upland walks shiverblack through a veil of snow, and sheep must be found andfolded or lost: a trial of head as well as heart, of resourceas well as resolution. In that winter more than one man and many a dog losthis life in the quiet performance of his duty, gliding todeath over the slippery snow-shelves, or overwhelmedbeneath an avalanche of the warm, suffocating white:smoored, as they call it. Many a deed was done, manya death died, recorded only in that Book which holds thenames of those—men or animals, souls or no souls—whoTried. They found old Wrottesley, the squires head shepherd,lying one morning at Gills foot, like a statue in i

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