They found the sheep down in the far corner of the paddock, feeding quietly.
“Now, then, come along,” said Willie, “and get your woolly coats off,” and he tried to whistle and called to Gussie, and soon had the sheep heading towards the gate.
“Easy, isn’t it?” he cried to Eva, who had been picking the pretty feathery grass.
“Oh, yes! the easiest thing in the world,” she answered back.
“I’d love to be a drover,” said Willie. “Sometimes I’d like big mobs of cattle, especially when they all broke away and I’d have to gallop after them. And sometimes I’d like mobs of sheep, too, especially when I had good dogs. I think I’ll break Gussie to be a real good sheep-dog, and have him for one of my best when I grow up.”
“But he’s no good. Dadda says he’s not, and he ought to know; and he said if he lives to be a hundred he’ll never be any better.”
“Hah, rubbish,” said Willie, with all a new chum’s self-assurance. “I’ll bet I could break him in. Here, Gus, where are you?” For Gussie had disappeared, but presently came rushing up from the creek, barking and yelping.
“Here, Gusso, good dog,” cried Willie.
But Gussie was frisky, and scampered round barking and yelping.
“Lie down, you fool!” shouted Willie. But, like a streak of lightning, Gussie was off after the sheep that were just nearing the gate, rushing in front of them and turning them back to the creek.