"Wilt ta promise?" he was asked. "Tha may let him speak, Lowrie; he canna mak' foak hear."
Nib looked down into the blackness, and broke into a terrific whine, turning his head toward his master.
"I—I—conna promise," said Jud; but he burst into tears.
"Let th' dog go," said Lowrie.
"Try him again. Wilt ta promise, or mun we let th' dog go, lad? We're noan goin' to do th' chap ony great harm; we're on'y goin' to play him a trick to pay him back fur his cheek."
Jud looked at Nib
"Lowrie said yo' had vitriol and knob-sticks," he faltered. "Yo' dunnat play tricks wi' them."
"Yo' see how much he's heerd," said Lowrie. "He'll noan promise."
The one who held the dog was evidently losing patience.
"Say yes or no, yo' young devil," he said, and he made a threatening gesture. "We conna stand here aw neet. Promise ta will na tell mon, woman, nor choild, what tha heerd us say. When I say 'three,' I'll drop th' dog. One—two"
The look of almost human terror in Nib's eyes was too much for his master. Desperation filled him. He could not sacrifice Nib—he could not sacrifice the man who had been Nib's friend; but he might make a sort of sacrifice of himself to both.
"Stop!" he cried. "I'll promise yo'."
He had saved Nib, but there was some parleying before he was set free, notwithstanding his promise to be silent. But for the fact that he was under the control of the others for the time being, Lowrie would have resorted to harsher precautions; but possibly influenced by a touch
