every jflock was tended by a shepherd^ who saw no human face in 
many cases from week to week, except when the ration cart came out 
to bring his supplies, or the irregular visits of the overseer. There 
were hundreds of these men—afterwards supplanted by boundary 
riders as the runs were fenced in—who lived solitary, lonely lives, as 
far as human companionship was concerned, but they had other 
friends beside the grave-faced collie, who learnt to know every 
movement of his master^s face in the long, silent watches on the 
plains. Among them was a little bird, for, come when you would, 
you would find the “ Shepherd’s Companion ” perched upon the 
ridge-pole of the bark hut, or fiuttering round the tree beside it, and 
as the flock came tailing out of the sheep-fold he would fly down and 
perch upon their backs, his bright eye soon discovering any belated 
fly and his sharp bill soon making short work of it; then up he 
would dance and flutter with his bright, chattering cry that the 
children say resembles Sweet, pretty creature,” and if not too late, 
or otherwise engaged, he always met the flock coming home. No 
wonder that the silent, lonely men came to love these merry 
little black and white sprites, and the Willie Wagtail ” of the 
coastal districts became known all over the west as the “ Shepherd’s 
Companion.” 
It is almost impossible to find any homestead out in the west— 
unless it is over-run with that enemy of bird-life, cats—where there 
are not a pair of these birds, which have taken up their quarters, and 
the first thing the stranger hears on waking in the morning is the 
greeting of the Willie Wagtail” on the tree outside his window; 
and if he has spent a restless night in his strange bed, he will have 
