Robin was vexed to the inmost recesses of his tiny soul.He stared stupidly after the sheep for half a minute，then gave the order，“Wully，fetch them in.”After this mental effort he sat down，lit his pipe，and taking out his knitting began work on a half-finished sock.
To Wully the voice of Robin was the voice of God.Away he ran in 374 different directions，and headed off and rounded up the 374 different wanderers，and brought them back to the ferry-house before Robin，who was stolidly watching the process，had toed off his sock.
Finally Wully—not Robin—gave the sign that all were in.The old shepherd proceeded to count them—370，371，372，373.
“Wully，”he said reproachfully，“thar no‘a’here.Thur’s anither.”And Wully，stung with shame，bounded off to scour the whole city for the missing one.He was not long gone when a small boy pointed out to Robin that the sheep were all there，the whole 374.Now Robin was in a quandary.His order was to hasten on to Yorkshire，and yet he knew that Wully’s pride would prevent his coming back without another sheep，even if he had to steal it.Such things had happened before，and resulted in embarrassing complications.What should he do There wasfive shillings a week at stake.Wully was a good dog，it was a pity to lose him，but then，his orders from the master;and again，if Wully stole an extra sheep to make up the number，then what—in a foreign land too He decided to abandon Wully，and push on alone with the sheep.And how he fared no one knows or cares.
Meanwhile，Wully careered through miles of streets hunting in vain for his lost sheep.All day he searched，and at night，famished and worn out，he sneaked shamefacedly back to the ferry，only to find that master and sheep had gone.His sorrow was pitiful to see.He ran about whimpering，then took the ferryboat across to the other side，and searched everywhere for Robin.He returned to South Shields and searched there，and spent the rest of the night seeking for his wretched idol.The next day he continued his search，he crossed and recrossed the river many times.He watched and smelt everyone that came over，and with significant shrewdness he sought unceasingly in the neighboring taverns for his master.The next day he set to work systematically to smell everyone that might cross the ferry.
The ferry makes fifty trips a day，with an average of one hundred persons a trip，yet never once did Wully fail to be on the gang-plank and smell every pair of legs that crossed—5，000 pairs，10，000 legs that day did Wully examine after his own fashion.And the next day，and the next，and all the week he kept his post，and seemed indifferent to feeding himself.Soon starvation and worry began to tell on him.He grew thin and ill-tempered.No one could touch him，and any attempt to interfere with his daily occupation of leg-smelling roused him to desperation.
Day after day，week after week Wully watched and waited for his master，who never came.The ferry men learned to respect Wully’s fidelity.At first hescorned their proffered food and shelter，and lived no one knew how，but starved to it at last，he accepted the gifts and learned to tolerate the givers.Although embittered against the world，his heart was true to his worthless master.
Fourteen months afterward I made his acquaintance.He was still on rigid duty at his post.He had regained his good looks.His bright，keen face set off by his white ruff and pricked ears made a dog to catch the eye anywhere.But he gave me no second glance，once he found my legs were not those he sought，and in spite of my friendly overtures during the ten months following that he continued his watch，I got no farther into his confidence than any other stranger.
For two whole years did this devoted creature attend that ferry.There was only one thing to prevent him going home to the hills，not the distance nor the chance of getting lost，but the conviction that Robin，the godlike Robin，wished him to stay by the ferry;and he stayed.
But he crossed the water as often as he felt it would serve his purpose.The fare for a dog was one penny，and it was calculated that Wully owed the company hundreds of pounds before he gave up his quest.He never failed to sense every pair of nethers that crossed the gang-plank—6，000，000 legs by computation had been pronounced upon by this expert.But all to no purpose.His unswerving fidelity never faltered，though his temper was obviously souring under the long strain.
We had never heard what became of Robin，but one day a sturdy drover strode down the ferry-slip and Wully mechanically assaying the new personality，suddenly started，his mane bristled，he trembled，a low growl escaped him，and hefixed his every sense on the drover.
One of the ferry hands not understanding，called to the stranger，“Hey buddy，don’t hurt that dog.”
“It’s him who hurt me.”But further explanation was not necessary.Wully’s manner had wholly changed.He fawned on the drover，and his tail was wagging violently for the first time in years.
A few words made it all clear.Dorley，the drover，had known Robin very well，and the mittens and comforter he wore were of Robin’s own make and had once been part of his wardrobe.Wully recognized the traces of his master，and despairing of any nearer approach to his lost idol，he abandoned his post at the ferry and plainly announced his intention of sticking to the owner of the mittens，and Dorley was well pleased to take Wully along to his home among the hills of Derbyshire，where he became once more a sheep-dog in charge of a flock.
