Then we talked of her dog, who sat by her, vigilant and confident, ready
at her slightest word or nod to race round his charges. Yes, he was a
good dog now, but when she had him first he was wicked. "He was that
spiteful, you dursn't trust him." The one-armed shepherd had "used him
cruel," and made him savage with the sheep. Now at last she had got him
quite right again, and she looked down lovingly upon the dog--a bob-
tail of the South Down breed--who sat at attention by her side. But, she
ended, the work was very hard, and the weather getting too cold for her
to be up on the Downs much longer. She would have to give it up for this
winter.
I wished her good luck and cantered off, a disillusioned man. But as I
turned my heard for one more glimpse of my one and only shepherdess, I
saw the dog looking up with the utmost faith and affection into her
poor, kindly, weazened old face. I could not wish her other than she
was. I could well believe that the farmer was satisfied with her, and
hardly regretted that she had not thought it worth while to dress the
part with a little more attention. Perhaps in the time to come we shall
develop a real race of shepherdesses,
"Who without sadness shall be safe,
And gay without frivolity.
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