Page:They who walk in the wilds, (IA theywhowalkinwil00robe).pdf/109



white under the flooding spring moonlight, the sheep lay contentedly ruminating amid the old stumps and close-bitten hillocks of the upland pasture. A huge black-and-tan dog—long-limbed, deep-chested, with longish, slightly waving coat and richly feathered tail, like a collie's—came trotting up towards them with a business-like air. At a distance of some ten paces he paused, and, contemplatively waving his tail, cast a keen glance over the flock.

The nearest ewes stopped chewing and eyed him with a mild disfavour, prepared to rise and move in among their fellows if he should come any closer. The rest of the flock appeared to ignore him. They did not fear him. In fact, his presence gave them a sense of added security, there in this wide, naked pasture field with the blackness of the ancient, untamed forest crowding close along the frail barrier of zigzag rail fence. In a dim way they realized that he was responsible for their safety—that he was their protector