“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.”
CHAPTER III.
THE SHEEP AND THE SCAVENGER
“Why, Minnie,” said Mrs. Lee, one morning a few weeks later, “here is a story very much like that of our pony and lamb. If Poll will stop chattering, I will read it to you.”
“In December, 1825, Thomas Rae, a blacksmith in Hardhills, purchased a beautiful lamb, of the black-faced breed, from an individual passing with a large flock. It was so extremely wild that it was with great difficulty separated from its companions. He put it in a field in company with a cow and a little white pony. It never seemed to mind the cow, but soon manifested fondness for the pony, who showed the friendship to be reciprocated.
“They soon became so attached that they were constantly to be seen in company, whether the pony was used for the saddle or its small carriage, exciting a smile from those who witnessed the unusual spectacle. When the lamb was approached, she would run under the pony for protection, when she would gaze around with looks of conscious security. At night, the lamb always repaired to the stable, and reposed under the manger, where it felt the pony’s breath.
“When separate, which only happened as it was effected by force, the little creature would raise the most plaintive bleatings, and the pony a responsive neighing.
“On one occasion, they both strayed into an adjoining field, in which was a flock of sheep. The lamb joined the flock at a short distance from the pony; but as their owner removed him, it immediately followed, without the least regard to its own species.
“Another time, when passing through a large flock, it followed its favorite without showing any signs of a desire to remain with its natural companions.”
“Somebody must have known about Nannie, and put it in a book,” cried Minnie, greatly excited. “I wonder who it was.”
“I presume there are many such cases,” answered the lady, smiling; “but you will be pleased to know that Mr. Sullivan will probably be here this evening; and you can ask him as many questions as you wish.”
The little girl clapped her hands, and then ran out to the kitchen, to tell Anne the good news.
When her father returned, she looked anxiously into the carriage, to see whether he had any one with him, and was pleased to find that a dark-complexioned, black-whiskered man occupied the other seat.
“I have prepared Mr. Sullivan for a regular catechising,” exclaimed Mr. Lee, springing from the carriage, and kissing Minnie’s glowing cheek. “You may show him Nannie, too; and he will tell you how to manage her.”
They were soon seated in the parlor, when Mr. Lee said, —
“I have often thought of that beautiful passage in which our Saviour describes the Jewish shepherd: ‘The sheep hear his voice, and he calleth his own sheep by name, and leadeth them out; and he goeth before them, and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice.’”
“It is astonishing,” remarked the visitor, “what power a humane shepherd has over his flock, when he has once acquired their confidence. This method of giving names to the sheep, as well as to the leaders, is very important. They soon learn the name given them, and will readily come at the familiar call.
“I read lately an account given by a gentleman who had been travelling in Greece, and he asked if it was customary there to give sheep names. ‘Yes,’ was the answer; and soon after he had an opportunity of seeing for himself. Passing a flock, he asked the shepherd to call one. He did so; and it instantly left its pasture and its companions, and ran up to the shepherd with signs of pleasure, and with a prompt obedience which I had never seen excelled in any other animal.
“I have heard, too, that an English shepherd knows every sheep in his flock. By feeding the lambs from the hand, and other kind treatment, he accustoms them to come at his call, and gradually to understand and follow his directions, when the rest of the flock will immediately follow.
“In France, the shepherd selects certain sheep from the flock, gives them names, and teaches them to come by offering them a piece of bread. When he wishes to lead his flock through a defile, or to make them change the direction in which they are proceeding, he calls one of these selected sheep. Those that are nearest follow immediately, and the others are not very far behind; and so, by degrees, the whole flock is disposed to obey the call of the shepherd.”
“Since you were here last,” rejoined Mr. Lee, “I have been reading Youatt’s admirable treatise on sheep. He has an instance very similar concerning the flock of Messrs. Nowlan, Kilkenny. In 1820, they had six hundred pure Merinos, all under the charge of one man. Not even a dog was permitted; the whole care devolved on the shepherd.
“At the sound of his horn, all the sheep flocked around him if he stopped, and followed him if he moved forward.
“Salt was the means by which this docility was acquired, a small quantity of which he carried about with him, distributing a little as a reward for their obedience to his call.
“The Kilkenny farm is divided by the King’s River, which at times is so rapid and impetuous as not to be fordable by the strongest horse. A plank bridge, eighteen inches wide, and one hundred and ten feet long, with a rail on one side, is thrown across for the convenience of those who may be desirous of crossing the stream.
“When it is necessary to remove the sheep from one side of the river to the other, the shepherd crosses the plank, sounding his horn, and each individual of the flock passes regularly after him in single file. Even in the highest floods, there has never occurred one single casualty.”
“That reminds me,” said Mr. Sullivan, “of the flocks in the Island of Cyrnon, which, on the landing of a stranger, always flee away into the interior of the country; but as soon as the shepherd blows his horn, they scamper around him, and forget every fear.
“But all this time I am quite unmindful of my young friend, who has not yet asked one question.”
“I want to know whether it’s easy to be a shepherdess,” said Minnie, blushing; “because I should like to be one; only I should want the kind of sheep that would own their lambs, and love them.”
Both Mr. Lee and his visitor laughed heartily.
“Sheep have one trait, and a very marked one,” said Mr. Sullivan, “which makes it difficult to keep them in order. That is, their habit of imitation. On my farm, the boundary one side is a stone wall, and it seems almost impossible to keep them from going over it. There is no better feed in my neighbor’s pasture; but for some reason the leader runs over, and then the whole flock follow. They know better, and they seldom attempt it when Moses, the dog, is in sight; for sheep soon learn the exact boundaries of their enclosure: from being driven back so often, they find how far they can roam, and remain in peace.
“So, Miss Minnie, unless you can run very fast, and like to keep on the chase pretty much all day, I think you would find it easier to take care of your pets at home than to be a shepherdess.”