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 her in, but she always found a way out.  It grew to be a real mystery.  Where in the world did Wylie go?

You never could guess, so I am going to tell you.

In the city near the town where the kind young men lived was a big market like (naming one in the neighbourhood).  Every sort of thing was sold there, even live cows and sheep and hens.  On Tuesday nights, the farmers used to come down from the hills with their sheep to sell, and drive them through the city streets into the pens, ready to sell on Wednesday morning; that was the day they sold them.

The sheep weren’t used to the city noises and sights, and they always grew afraid and wild, and gave the farmers and the sheepdogs a great deal of trouble.  They broke away and ran about, in everybody’s way.

But just as the trouble was worst, about sunrise, the farmers would see a little silky, sharp-eared dog come trotting all alone down the road, into the midst of them.

And then!