Stafford stood with his cap in his hand looking after her for a moment, in a brown study; and, still watching the back of the slight figure that sat the big horse with the grace of an Indian maiden, he began to take down his rod, and, having packed it in his case and fastened his basket, he followed her along the broken bank of the stream.  Presently, when she had gone some little distance, he heard the dogs start barking again, the crack of her whip rang like a pistol-shot, and her bell-like voice echoed amongst the hills, joined with the troubled baaing of the sheep.  Stafford stopped and watched her:  there was evidently something wrong; for the dogs had become excited, the sheep were running wildly; but the girl’s exquisite voice was as clear and calm as ever, and the big horse cantered over the broken ground, taking a big boulder now and again with lilting jump, as if he were going by his own volition and was well up in all the points of the game.  After a time the dogs got the sheep into a heap, and the young girl rode round them; but something still seemed to be wrong, for she got down, and, leaving the horse quite free, made her way into the flock.

At that moment Stafford saw a sheep and a lamb break from the mob and make for the stream; the sheep jumped to a boulder with the agility of a goat, the lamb attempted to follow, but missed the boulder and fell into the stream.  The water was wild here and the pools deep; and as the lamb was swept down toward Stafford he saw that it was struggling in an ineffectual way, and that it looked like a case of drowning.

Of course he went for it at once, and wading in made a grab at it; he got hold of it easily enough, but the lamb—­a good sized one—­struggled, and in the effort to retain his hold Stafford’s feet slipped and he went headfirst into a deep pool.  He was submerged for a second only, and when he came up he had the satisfaction of feeling that he had still got the lamb; and gripping the struggling thing tightly in his arms, he made for the opposite bank.  And looking up, saw the girl standing waiting for him, her face alive, alight, dancing with delight and amusement!  The laughter shone in her eyes like dazzling sunlight and quivered on the firm but delicate lips.  But it was only for a moment; before Stafford had fully taken it in and had responded to it with one of his own short laughs, her face was grave and calm again.  “Thank you.” she said, with a gravity matching her face, and very much as one is thanked for passing the salt.  “It would have drowned if you had not been there.  It is lame and couldn’t swim.  I saw, from the top of the hill, that it was lame, and I was afraid something would happen to it.”

As she spoke, she took the lamb, which was bleating like mad, laid it on the ground and holding it still, firmly but gently, with her knee, examined it with all the confidence and coolness of a vet.

“You’ll make yourself most frightfully wet,” said Stafford.