THE LITTLE LAMBS.
Anne was standing on some high steps, putting up clean curtains in her
mistress's room; and Minnie stood watching her, and wondering how soon
she would be done, so she could tell about the lambs. At last she
said,--
"Anne, if I stand up in a chair, I could hold the nails and give them to
you."
"That's true for you, miss," answered the girl; "and it's a much better
way than kapeing them in my mouth."
"And you can talk better," urged Minnie, with a roguish look.
Anne laughed outright. "Ah, it's the story ye're after, I see; and sure
ye're welcome to all I can tell you.
"You know my mother was English, and my father Irish. I was born in the
great city o' Dublin; but after my father died, which was long enough
before I could tell my right hand from my left, I went with my mother to
her home in England. Of coorse, I knew nothing of that except by
hearsay, which is no evidence at all; but well I can remember, when I
was old enough, I was sent out on my grandfather's farm, to mind the
sheep; I had a dog, Rover, to go with me, and a little crook, because
I was a shepherdess, you know; and I used to carry dinner enough in my
pail for Rover too, for he had to work hard, poor fellow!
[Illustration: THE YOUNG SHEPHERDESS.]
"I liked it very well at first, for the lambs looked so pretty, skipping
around the dams; and the air was so fresh and bright; but I was a very
little girl; so I soon grew tired, and left all the care of the sheep to
Rover. He flew from one end of the field to the other, chasing them
away from the hill where they used to wander and get lost.
"When I saw the lambs drinking their mother's milk, I thought it must be
very nice; and so I lay down on the grass, and drank some too; and I
liked it so well that I used to drink every day, until grandfather found
it out, and forbid me, because the lambs would not have enough.
"By and by I grew up to be a big girl, and then, what with tending the
sick sheep, and bringing up the cossets, I had plenty to do. Grandfather
had five hundred ewes. He was a rich man, and every body thought well of
him. When the lambs began to come, there were some of the ewes that
would not own them."
"I know about that, Anne," said Minnie; "mamma told me."
"Well, when there are two, this is often the case; or sometimes the
shepherd finds the mother has not milk enough for two, even if she would
like them. Did your mamma tell you that some kinds of sheep are much
better nurses than others?"
"No, I think she did not know that. She says she don't know much about
sheep."
"Very likely, as she was not brought up with them. There is a kind
called Merinos, which are very bad nurses. Grandfather wouldn't have
them on that account, though they have very fine wool, which sells for a
good price. Out of a hundred lambs, they wouldn't bring up more than
half.
"They are poor, tender little things, any way. Well, I mind the time
when there was a great storm, and grandfather had to be up all night,
housing the poor craturs; for the lambs were coming fast. A little past
midnight, mother called me, and there we sat till morning, before a
blazing fire, warming up one and another, as he brought them in. I sat
down on a cricket, and took two or three in my lap at once, and hugged
them up to my bosom. When they began to twitch, and we found they must
die, we put them on the great hearth rug, and took more. Sometimes
they'd just lie down and go to sleep, and when we had time to look at
them, they'd be stiff and cold; and then again they would cry out like a
baby. It used to make my heart ache to hear them."
Anne had now finished her work, and came down from the steps.
"I don't think I should like to be a shepherdess," said Minnie,
sighing.
"O, yes, you'd like it mightily. Such a time as that only comes once in
a great many years. And then, when it's warm summer weather, and the
lambs frisk and frolic about their mothers in the field, and you just
sit down and play on the accordeon, while the dog keeps the flock in
order,--O, there's no work so pleasant or so healthy as that!"
When Mr. Lee returned from the city, Minnie was ready with her
questions about sheep.
"I want to know all I can about them," she exclaimed.
"There are few stories that can be told about sheep," he answered,
cheerfully; "for it must be confessed that they are far inferior to the
horse, dog, and many other animals, in intelligence and sagacity. The
sheep has few marked traits, except its meekness, and its natural
affection for its young. Still, when I remember that the lamb was
selected before all other animals for sacrifice, and as a type of Him
who is called 'the Lamb of God,' and who is to take away the sins of the
world, I feel a deep interest in its welfare.
"The sheep, too, is one of the most useful animals, its fleece or wool
being used as a covering to man, and its flesh for food. It was only
yesterday I read the well-established fact that, from one pound of
sheep's wool a thread was spun so fine that it reached to the almost
incredible distance of ninety-five miles, while one of ordinary fineness
reached twenty-six miles. This covering grows so thick in winter that it
enables them to bear cold which would be fatal to other animals. They
appear to know, too, when a storm is approaching, and take refuge under
a sheltering hill or some projecting cliff.
"One very curious thing is, that they can live under the snow for a long
time. Mr. Sullivan, who is a shepherd, you know, told me a circumstance
which occurred in his own experience.
"There was every appearance of a storm, and he, with his men, drove the
sheep early into the fold. In the morning, on counting them, he found
there were seven valuable ewes missing. It had snowed all night, and was
still snowing, when he started out in search of them. But nowhere could
they be found. The storm continued four days, and the snow had reached a
depth very uncommon; but day after day the search was renewed. At last,
however, it was given up; when one day a woodcutter, in going over a
stone wall which lay almost entirely concealed, fell through the snow,
and found himself in the midst of the lost sheep. Their breath had
rendered the crust, which was firm enough to bear his weight in other
places, so thin here that it would not sustain him. They seemed lively
and well, having found enough dead grass under the snow to sustain life.
"There is an instance very similar to this in one of my books, which I
will find and read to you."
"In the winter of 1800, a sheep was buried in the snow near Kendal, and
remained there thirty-three days and nights, without the possibility of
moving, and yet survived.
"In the same winter, a sheep near Caldbeck, in Cumberland, was buried
thirty-eight days; when found, it had eaten the wool completely off both
its shoulders, and was reduced to a skeleton; but with great care it
recovered."
"Mr. James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, gives a most interesting account
of eight hundred ewes that were buried in the snow. Some of them he and
his fellow-servants succeeded in getting out the first day; but the
second there were but few of them to be seen, except the horns of some
stragglers. The men went about, boring with long poles, but with little
success, until their dog found out their difficulty, and flying to a
spot, began to scrape away the snow. From this time, by his keen scent,
he marked faster than they could get them out, and by his skill saved
two hundred, though some were buried in a mountain of snow fifty feet
deep. They were all alive, and most of them recovered their strength."