class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[23]"/> her, she butts it softly with her head. The lamb knows then that she will not take care of it; and the little forsaken creature begins to cry, Anne says, ‘for all the world just like a little baby.’”

“And what do the people do for it?” inquired Minnie, tears filling her eyes.

“Why, they take it away from the flock, and ‘bring it up by hand,’ as they call it; that is, they feed it with milk, and it learns to love the one who takes care of it, and follows her about wherever she goes, just like a little dog. Anne will tell you all about it.”

“She is busy now. I heard her tell cook she wanted to give your chamber a thorough cleaning to-day. Can’t you remember something more?”

“You know that gentleman, Mr. Sullivan, who comes here sometimes with your father. He is what is called a practical shepherd; that is, he knows all about the habits of sheep, from having been brought up with them. He understands the different breeds, and knows which are the best for wool; and which, for mutton; and what kinds of food are best for them. I have heard your father say that he had gained a great deal of information from Mr. Sullivan, which he could not get from books. I think he will visit us again before long; and I advise you to save all your difficult questions for him to answer.”

“If father buys a flock, will he keep them on his farm?” asked the child.

“O, no, dear! Sheep like to roam over the hills, and browse on the bushes and moss. They can find a very good living where a cow would suffer from hunger.”

At this moment, Anne appeared at the door, to ask her mistress a question, and Minnie took the opportunity to tell her that she wanted to hear about raising little lambs.

“I’ll be pleased enough to tell you, miss,” answered the woman, smiling. “I’ve had a dale to do with sheep, and lambs, too, in my younger days, and many’s the little cosset I’ve brought up by hand, when the poor cratur would otherwise have died.”

CHAPTER II.
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!

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