quick wit which had saved them all
from the tidal wave.

THE STORY OF WYLIE[1]

[Footnote 1: Adapted from _Rab and his Friends_, by Dr John Brown.]

This is a story about a dog,--not the kind of dog you often see in the
street here; not a fat, wrinkly pugdog, nor a smooth-skinned bulldog, nor
even a big shaggy fellow, but a slim, silky-haired, sharp-eared little
dog, the prettiest thing you can imagine. Her name was Wylie, and she
lived in Scotland, far up on the hills, and helped her master take care of
his sheep.

You can't think how clever she was! She watched over the sheep and the
little lambs like a soldier, and never let anything hurt them. She drove
them out to pasture when it was time, and brought them safely home when it
was time for that. When the silly sheep got frightened and ran this way
and that, hurting themselves and getting lost, Wylie knew exactly what to
do,--round on one side she would run, barking and scolding, driving them
back; then round on the other, barking and scolding, driving them back,
till they were all bunched together in front of the right gate. Then she
drove them through as neatly as any person. She loved her work, and was a
wonderfully fine sheepdog.

At last her master grew too old to stay alone on the hills, and so he went
away to live. Before he went, he gave Wylie to two kind young men who
lived in the nearest town; he knew they would be good to her. They grew
very fond of her, and so did their old grandmother and the little
children: she was so gentle and handsome and well behaved.

So now Wylie lived in the city where there were no sheep farms, only
streets and houses, and she did not have to do any work at all,--she was
just a pet dog. She seemed very happy and she was always good.

But after a while, the family noticed something odd, something very
strange indeed, about their pet. Every single Tuesday night, about nine
o'clock, Wylie _disappeared_. They would look for her, call her,--no, she
was gone. And she would be gone all night. But every Wednesday morning,
there she was at the door, waiting to be let in. Her silky coat was all
sweaty and muddy and her feet heavy with weariness, but her bright eyes
looked up at her masters as if she were trying to explain where she had
been.

Week after week the same thing happened. Nobody could imagine where Wylie
went every Tuesday night. They tried to follow her to find out, but she
always slipped away; they tried to shut h