"They are the finest dogs I ever saw, Sandy."
"I pride myself there are not many like them," agreed the herder. "I raised them from puppies and trained them myself. Now Colin, who also goes with me when I go to the hills, is a good dog, but he is not my own. He belongs to the ranch. So do Victor and Hector. You never feel the same toward them as you do with those you have brought up yourself. Robin and Prince Charlie are not to be matched in the county. But to see them at their best you must see 'em on the range."
"I wish I could!"
"So it's to the range you'd be going, is it? Well, well—belike when the herds are made up and we set out your father will let you go up into the hills a piece with me."
"Oh, Sandy," cried the boy, "would you take me? Do you suppose father would let me go?"
"'Twill do no harm to ask him. I must wait, though, until I see the other herders off, and until Thornton is back from Glen City. The flocks must have a few days' rest after the dipping. Poor things! It is a sorry time they have being dipped in that hot bath just after they have lost their thick, warm coats; it makes them more chilly than ever. Then, too, they sometimes get small cuts while they are being sheared and the lime and sulphur makes the bruises smart. I am always sorry for the beasties. Yet after all I comfort myself with thinking that it is better they should be wretched for a little while than to be sick for a long while. It is like sitting in a dark room when you have the measles—you do not like it but you know you will be worse off if you don't do it."
Sandy laughed and so did Donald.
"Then it will be several days before you start for the range, Sandy."
"Yes. I must wait for Thornton. I can't leave your father here alone. He might want me."
"You have been a great help to my father, Sandy."