But with Chum it was all different. The dog learned quickly his
new master's moods and met them in kind. The few simple tricks
Link sought to teach him were grasped with bewildering ease.
There was a human quality of sympathy and companionship which
radiated almost visibly from Chum. His keen collie brain was
forever amazing Ferris by its flashes of perception. The dog was
a revelation and an endless source of pleasure to the
hermit-farmer.

When Chum was whole of his hurt and when the injured leg had knit
so firmly that the last trace of lameness was gone, Link fell to
recalling his father's preachments as to the havoc wrought by
dogs upon sheep. He could not afford to lose the leanest and
toughest of his little sheep flock--even as price for the
happiness of owning a comrade. Link puzzled sorely over this.

Then one morning it occurred to him to put the matter up to Chum
himself. Hitherto he had kept the dog around the house, except on
their daily walks; and he had always tied him when driving the
sheep to or from pasture. This morning he took the collie along
when he went out to release the tiny flock from their barnyard
fold and send them out to graze.

Link opened the fold gate, one hand on Chum's collar. Out
billowed the sheep in a ragged scramble. Chum quivered with
excitement as the woolly catapults surged past him. Eagerly he
looked up into his master's face, then back at the tumbling
creatures.

"Chum!" spoke Ferris sharply. "Leave 'em be! Get that? LEAVE 'EM