The young dog, George's son, might possibly 

 have been the image of his mother, for there was 

 not much resemblance between him and George. 

 He was learning the sheep-keeping business, so 

 as to follow on at the flock when the other should 

 die, but had got no further than the rudiments as 

 yet — still finding an insuperable difficulty in 

 distinguishing between doing a thing well enough 

 and doing it too well. So earnest and yet so 

 wrong-headed was this young dog (he had no 

 name in particular, and answered with perfect 

 readiness to any pleasant interjection), that if sent 

 behind the flock to help them on, he did it so 

 thoroughly that he would have chased them across 

 the whole county with the greatest pleasure if not 

 called off, or reminded when to stop by the 

 example of old George. 



Thus much for the dogs. On the farther side 

 of Norcombe Hill was a chalk-pit, from which 

 chalk had been drawn for generations, and spread 

 over adjacent farms. Two hedges converged upon 

 it in the form of a V, but without quite meeting. 

 The narrow opening left, which was immediately 

 over the brow of the pit, was protected by a rough 

 railing. 



One night, when Farmer Oak had returned to 

 his house, believing there would be no further 

 necessity for his attendance on the down, he called 

 as usual to the dogs, previously to shutting them 



194 



