In short, he loved Wisp, as he loved not even Trask Frayne. More than once, in the village, when a stray cur misunderstood Wisp’s gay friendliness and showed his teeth at the frail little dog, Tam so far departed from his wonted noble dignity as to hurl himself upon the aggressor and thrash the luckless canine into howling submission.
He was Wisp’s guardian, as well as his dearest comrade. Once in a very great while such inseparable friendships spring up between two collies.
One morning in June, Trask set forth for Suffern with a flock of sixty sheep. The day was hot; and the journey promised to be tiresome. So, when the two collies had worked the sixty out from the rest of the Frayne bunch of sheep and had started them, bleating and milling, toward the highroad, Trask whistled Wisp back to him.
“Home, boy!” he ordered, patting the friendly uplifted head and playfully rumpling the collie’s silken ears. “Back home, and take care of things there to-day. It’s a long hot trip for a pup that hasn’t any more stamina than you have, Wispy. Tam and I can handle them, all right. Chase back home!”
The soft brown eyes of the collie filled with infinitely pathetic pleading. Wisp understood the meaning of his master’s words as well as might any of the Frayne children. From birth he had been talked to; and his quick brain had responded; as does every clever collie’s.
Wisp knew he had been bidden to stay at home from this delightful outing. And every inch of his body as well as his eloquent eyes cried aloud in appeal to be taken along. Yet, when, once more, Frayne petted his head and pointed towards the dooryard, the good little chap turned obediently back.
As he passed Tam, the two dogs touched noses; as if exchanging speech of some sort;—as perhaps they were. Then, disconsolately, Wisp trotted to the house and curled up on the doormat in a small and furry and miserably unhappy heap. There he was still lying, his sorrowful eyes fixed on his master and on his busily-herding chum; as the huddle of sheep were guided out of the gateway into the highroad beyond.
Glancing back, Frayne smiled encouragingly at the pathetic little waiting figure at the door. Tam, too, paused, as he manœuvred the last silly sheep into the highroad; and stood beside Frayne, for a second, peering back at his chum. Under their momentary glance, Wisp made shift to wag his plumy tail once; by way of affectionate farewell.
Long afterward, Trask Frayne could summon up memory of the daintily graceful little dog, lying so obediently on the doormat and wagging such a brave goodbye to the master who had just deprived him of a jolly day’s outing. Possibly the picture remained in Tam-o’-Shanter’s memory, too.
It is to be hoped so. For never again were Frayne or Tam to see their lovable little collie chum.