that the greatest and wisest in
the land would have aspired to in vain.

Wully could not have imagined any greater being than Robin, and yet for
the sum of five shillings a week all Robin's vital energy and mental
force were pledged to the service of a not very great cattle and sheep
dealer, the real proprietor of Wully's charge, and when this man, really
less great than the neighboring laird, or dered Robin to drive his flock
by stages to the Yorkshire moors and markets, of all the 376 mentalities
concerned, if Wully's was the most interested and interesting.

The journey through Northumberland was uneventful. At the River Tyne
the sheep were driven on to the ferry and landed safely in smoky South
Shields. The great factory chimneys were just starting up for the day
and belching out fogbanks and thunder-rollers of opaque leaden smoke
that darkened the air and hung low like a storm-cloud over the streets.
The sheep thought that they recognized the fuming dun of an unusually
heavy Cheviot storm. They became alarmed, and in spite of their keepers
stampeded through the town in 374 different directions.

Robin was vexed to the inmost recesses of his tiny soul. He stared
stupidly after the sheep for half a minute, then gave the order, "Wully,
fetch them in." After this mental effort he sat down, lit his pipe, and
taking out his knitting began work on a half-finished sock.

To Wully the voice of Robin was the voice of God. Away he ran in 374
different directions, and headed off and rounded up the 374 different
wanderers, and brought them back to the ferry-house before Robin, who
was stolidly watching the process, had toed off his sock.

Finally Wully--not Robin--gave the sign that all were in. The old
shepherd proceeded to count them--370, 371, 372, 373.

"Wully," he said reproachfully, "thar no' a' here. Thur's anither." And
Wully, stung with shame, bounded off to scour the whole city for the
missing one. He was not long gone when a small boy pointed out to
Robin that the sheep were all there, the whole 374. Now Robin was in a
quandary. His order was to hasten on to Yorkshire, and yet he knew that
Wully's pride would prevent his coming back without another sheep, even
if he had to steal it. Such things had happened before, and resulted in
embarrassing complications. What should he do?

There was five shillings a week at stake. Wully was a good dog, it was
a pity to lose him, but then, his orders from the master; and a