Minnie's Pet Lamb

“In the same book, there is also an account of a flock near Guildford, consisting of more than eight hundred sheep, in one pasture. A dog one day jumped the hedge, and so frightened them that one of them jumped into an adjoining field, which was on a great descent, when the rest of the flock followed each other over the gap of the hedge so fast that one hundred and twenty-three of them were killed.”

“There is one quality or characteristic of the sheep which will interest you, Minnie,” said her father, “and that is their love of home. Perhaps Mr. Sullivan will tell you some stories about that.”

“I should be very glad to hear them, and about the little lambs.”

“A great deal can be said upon that,” returned the shepherd, cheerfully. “So strong is their attachment to the place where they have been bred, that I have heard of their returning to the Highlands of Scotland from a distance of three hundred miles. When a few sheep accidentally get away from their acquaintance in the flock, they always return home with great eagerness and perseverance.

“The most singular instance that I know of is that of a black ewe, that returned from a farm in the head of Glen Lyon to her home in Tweeddale, and accomplished the journey in nine days. She was soon missed by her owner, and a shepherd was despatched in pursuit of her, who followed her all the way to Crieff, where he turned and gave her up. He got intelligence of her all the way, and every one told him that she absolutely persisted in travelling on – she would not be turned, regarding neither sheep nor shepherd by the way.

“Her poor little lamb was often far behind, and she had constantly to urge it on by impatient bleating. She unluckily reached Stirling on the morning of a great annual fair, about the end of May, and judging it imprudent to venture through the crowd with her lamb, she halted on the north side of the town the whole day, where she was seen by hundreds, lying close by the roadside.

“But the next morning, a little before the break of day, when all was still, she was seen stealing quietly through the town, in apparent terror of the dogs that were prowling about the street. The last time she was seen on the road was at a toll bar near St. Ninian’s; the man stopped her, thinking she was a strayed animal, and that some one would claim her. She tried several times to break through by force, when he opened the gate for travellers; but he always prevented her, and at length she turned patiently back. She found some means of eluding him, however; for she reached home on a Sabbath morning early in June, having left the farm at Glen Lyon either on Thursday afternoon or Friday morning, a week and two days before.

“I suppose her former owner thought she had earned a right to remain on her native farm, for he paid the Highland farmer the price of her, and she remained with him till she at length died of old age, in her seventeenth year.”

At this moment, company was announced, who remained till evening, so that poor little Minnie, after waiting a long time for her stories, was obliged to go to bed without them.

“Never mind, dear,” whispered her father, noticing her look of disappointment; “I have a book with beautiful anecdotes of sheep and lambs, which I will read to you when I come home to-morrow night.”

In the morning, Mr. Sullivan found time to pay Nannie a visit, and pronounced her in a thriving condition. He recommended Mr. Lee to have her wool sheared off, as it was so long as to make her uncomfortable during the heat of summer.

Nannie was now a year old, and was a fine, large lamb, with her speckled face looking very bright and intelligent, and, as the gentleman said, did credit to the care of her shepherdess.

Soon after breakfast, Mr. Lee and his visitor went to the library on business, and Minnie did not see them again until just as they were getting into the carriage to drive away. She waited with some impatience for her father to return, and wished she knew what book her father referred to as having the stories in it, so that she might have it ready for him.

Her mother, finding that she was restless and discontented, advised her to apply herself to her letters, which she was beginning to learn.

If the truth must be told, the little girl was not fond of study; but when her mother reminded her that most children of her age could read and spell with ease, and that, if she was diligent, she herself would soon be able to read stories, and not be dependent on any one else, she thought it would be a good thing to learn. For half an hour, she forgot her desire for her father’s return in finding A’s and E’s in books to match letters on her cards.

Evening came at last, and Mr. Lee with it. He looked very smiling, and told his wife his sister was in the city, and was coming in a few weeks to visit them. The moment he saw Minnie’s expectant face, he told her he would be ready in five minutes to attend to her, and then invited Mrs. Lee to accompany them to the library, to hear some stories from the Shepherd’s Calendar, and other books.

In a few moments, Minnie was seated on her father’s lap, her whole countenance beaming with pleased anticipation.

CHAPTER V.

AFFECTION FOR ITS YOUNG

The gentleman began: —

“The marked characteristic of the sheep is that of natural affection, of which it possesses a great share. At the present time, there is in Regent’s Park a poor sheep, with very bad foot rot. Crawling along the pasture on its knees, it with difficulty contrives to procure for itself subsistence; and the pain which it suffers when compelled to get on its feet is evidently very great. At a little distance from the sufferer was another sheep, which, after close observation, I found was always the same. As I pursued my regular morning walk through the Park, I commonly sought out the friends, and, after two or three days, they seemed to be aware that no harm was intended them, and they suffered me to come near enough to observe their signals, and fully to satisfy myself that it was always the same faithful adherent by whom the cripple was solaced and watched.

“When a sheep becomes blind, it is rarely abandoned to itself in this hapless and helpless state. Some one of the flock attaches himself to it, and by bleating calls it back from the precipice, and the lake, and the pool, and every kind of danger to which it is exposed.”

“Isn’t that good of them?” cried Minnie, eagerly. “I like those sheep.”

“There was once a gentleman living in Inverness,” Mr. Lee went on, “who was passing through a lonely and unfrequented district, when he observed a sheep bleating most piteously, and hurrying along the road to meet him; on his approaching nearer, the animal redoubled its cries, and looking earnestly in his face, seemed to implore some favor or assistance.

“Touched with a sight so unusual, he alighted, and leaving his gig, he followed the sheep in the direction whence it had come. There, in a solitary place, the ewe stopped, and the traveller found a lamb, completely wedged in between two large stones, almost exhausted, but still continuing to struggle very feebly.

“The kind gentleman instantly extricated the little sufferer, and placed it safely on the neighboring greensward, while the delighted mother poured out her thanks in a long-continued and grateful, if not a musical, strain.

“An interesting provision of nature with regard to these animals is, that the more inhospitable the land on which they feed, the greater will be their kindness and affection to their young.

“‘I once herded,’ says the Ettrick Shepherd, ‘two years on a wild and bare farm, called Willenslee, on the border of Mid Lothian; and of all the sheep I ever saw, these were the kindest and most affectionate to their lambs. I was often deeply affected at scenes which I witnessed. We had one very hard winter, so that our sheep grew lean in the spring, and disease came among them, and carried off a number. Often have I seen these poor victims, when fallen to rise no more, even when unable to lift their heads from the ground, holding up the leg to invite the starving lamb to the miserable pittance that the udder still could supply. I had never seen aught more painfully affecting.

“‘It is well known that it is a custom with shepherds, when a lamb dies, if the mother have a sufficiency of milk, to bring her from the hill, and put another lamb to her. This is done by putting the skin of the dead lamb upon the living one; the ewe immediately acknowledges the relationship, and after the skin has warmed on it, so as to give it something of the smell of her own lamb, and when it has suckled her two or three times, she accepts it, and nourishes it as her own ever after. Whether it is from joy at this apparent reanimation of her young one, or because a little doubt remains in her mind, which she would fain dispel, I can not decide; but, for a number of days, she shows far more fondness, by bleating and caressing, over this one, than she formerly did over the one that was really her own.

“‘While at Willenslee, I never needed to drive home a sheep by force, with dogs, or in any other way than the following: I found every ewe, of course, hanging her head over her dead lamb; and having a piece of twine with me for the purpose, I tied that to the lamb’s neck or foot, and, trailing it along, the ewe followed me into any house, or fold, or wherever I chose to lead her. Any of them would have followed me in that way for miles, with her nose close on the lamb, which she never quitted for a moment, except to chase my dog, which she would not suffer to walk near me.

“‘Out of curiosity, I often led them in to the side of the kitchen fire, by this means into the midst of servants and dogs; but the more that dangers multiplied around the ewe, the closer she clung to her dead offspring, and thought of nothing whatever but protecting it. One of the two years while I remained on this farm, a severe blast of snow came on by night, about the latter end of April, which destroyed several scores of our lambs; and as we had not enough of twins and odd lambs for the mothers that had lost theirs, of course we selected the best ewes, and put lambs to them. I found one fine ewe standing over a dead lamb in the head of the Hope, and asked my master to put a lamb to her, but he did not. I watched her, and faithfully did she stand to her charge; so faithfully, that I think the like was never equalled by any of the woolly race. I visited her morning and evening, and for the first eight days never found her above two or three yards from the lamb; and always, as I went my rounds, she eyed me long ere I came near her, and kept trampling with her feet, and whistling through her nose, to frighten away the dog. He got a regular chase, twice a day, as I passed by.

“‘The weather grew fine and warm, and the dead lamb soon decayed; but still this affectionate and desolate creature kept hanging over the poor remains, with an attachment that seemed to be nourished by hopelessness. It often drew tears from my eyes, to see her hanging with such fondness over a few bones, mixed with a small portion of wool.

“‘For the first fortnight, she never quitted the spot, and for another week she visited it every morning and evening, uttering a few kindly and heart-piercing bleats each time, till at length every remnant of her offspring vanished, mixing with the soil, or wafted away by the winds of heaven.’”

“There, Minnie, I think you have heard enough for to-night,” said Mr. Lee, gayly, as he heard his little daughter sigh repeatedly.

“O, father, I can’t help being so sorry for the poor sheep!”

“You had better read her something more cheerful, or she’ll be thinking of that all night,” responded Mrs. Lee, laughing at the child’s dolorous tone.

“Yes, father, please read one more.”

“Well, then, here is something that will please you.”

“A drover, being on his way to Smithfield market with a flock of sheep, one of them became so sore-footed and lame that it could travel no farther. The man, wishing to get on, took up the distressed animal, and dropped it over the paling of an enclosure belonging to Mr. O’Kelly, and where the celebrated race-horse Dungannon was then grazing, and pursued his journey, intending to call for the sheep on his return, believing, after a little rest, it would quickly recover. This was the case; but, in the mean time, a strong attachment grew up between the two inhabitants of the paddock. The horse would playfully nibble the neck of the sheep, and, without hurting it, would lift it into the manger of a neighboring shed belonging to the field, as much as to say, ‘Though you are not able to reach it, I will help you to the banquet.’ Besides this, the horse would, on all occasions, protect his new friend, and would suffer no one to interfere with him.

“When the drover returned, the two friends had become so attached, that it seemed cruel to part them; and Mrs. O’Kelly, having learned the circumstances, bought the sheep, and left the friends in peaceable possession of the paddock and its adjoining shelter.”

CHAPTER VI.

THE SHEEP-FARM

About this time, Minnie went a short journey with her parents, and was greatly delighted when, one afternoon, they drove through a long, winding lane to a farmhouse, where her friend, Mr. Sullivan, was residing.

“Will you please let me see the lambs?” she asked the kind old lady, Mr. Sullivan’s mother, who kept house for him at this time.

“My little daughter has been scarcely able to contain her joy,” explained Mr. Lee, “since I told her, a few miles back, that we were going to visit your son.”

The good woman smiled kindly upon the child, and then went to the back door, where she took down a long horn, and blew upon it with all her might.

“Joseph will hear that,” she said, laughing, as she saw Minnie’s large eyes fixed so eagerly on her face, “and he will come up presently from the field. When he has taken care of your father’s horses, you can go back with him if you please.”

“And may I take the little lambs in my arms? I love lambs dearly.”

“They are rather shy of strangers, dear, but you can try. If the ewes are willing, I am.”

Minnie then ran to the door, and soon announced, in a glad voice, that Mr. Sullivan was in sight.

He gave them a cheering welcome, and, after kissing Minnie, told her she might run all over the farm, just where she pleased.

“There is a calf in the barn,” he said, laughing, “and plenty of little pigs in the sty.”

“But I like lambs better than pigs, sir.”

“Well, there are some over a hundred of them, and you shall be introduced to their acquaintance as soon as I have given the horses some oats.”

Mrs. Lee was readily induced to join the party, although somewhat tired with her long drive. The sheep, of which there were one hundred and fifty, were eating grass on the side of a hill, but, at the shepherd’s call, came running to meet him, bleating for their lambs to follow. He threw out some salt, with which his huge pockets were filled; and while Minnie gazed with sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks upon the unusual scene, asked Mr. Lee what he thought of their appearance.

“I never saw a finer flock,” was the eager reply. “They do credit to their keeping.”

A scream of delight from Minnie caused her father to turn quickly, in time to see a beautiful white lamb crowding its little nose through the fence, into the child’s hand.

“Here, Minnie,” said the shepherd, giving her an ear of corn; “hold this up, and call, ‘Luke,’ and you’ll soon have the mother to the lamb eating from the cob.” He laughed merrily, as he added, “My boy has given them all Bible names; so we have Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. He hesitated a little about Acts, but finally thought he’d better go straight through. So here comes Acts, with her twin lambs, as fine a pair as there is in the flock.”

Mr. and Mrs. Lee laughed heartily, and presently Minnie asked, “What is the name of that great one, with horns?”

“O! That’s Jeroboam. He’s a cruel fellow, I’m sorry to say. I wouldn’t advise you to have much to do with such a fellow as he is.”

“He looks like a picture in our Bible of a ram going to sacrifice,” said the child, gravely. “I wish he were good, though.”

“Here comes a lamb now,” said Mr. Sullivan, “that I took the liberty to name for you. To my fancy, she’s the prettiest one of the flock. Minnie, Minnie, come and get your corn.”

“Can lambs eat corn, sir?”

“No; but their mothers can, and they get the good of it.”

Minnie’s mother came and ate the corn greedily from his hand, while the lamb danced about, first on one side and then on the other, much to the amusement of the child.

“Do they stay out in the field all night, sir?”

“O, no! we always shelter them. At this season, we allow them to feed till late; the sun being so hot in the middle of the day, they all crowd under the shade of the hill.”

“But what do they do when it rains?”

“A warm shower doesn’t hurt the lambs; but we had some cold north-east storms earlier in the season, when we were obliged to drive them all in, as we couldn’t separate the lambs from their mothers. One day, we tried to keep the ewes out to feed, but they bleated so much for their little ones ‘twas no use; they wouldn’t eat.”

“I’m glad of that,” cried Minnie, eagerly. “I’m glad your sheep love their children. In Ireland, sometimes they won’t own them.”

“We had a great deal of trouble with the merinos,” Mr. Sullivan went on, directing his remark to Mr. Lee. “Not one in ten cared any thing about her lamb. If she had milk enough, I could tie her; but it often made my heart ache to hear the poor wee things crying for a mother’s care. I was almost glad when they died off, as they generally did. I find it’s the universal opinion now that merinos make poor nurses.”

The shepherd turned smilingly to Minnie: “Have you any more questions to ask, Miss?”

“O, a great many! But as we are going to stay all night, I shall have time.”

“Then, my dear, I will go in,” said her mother, laughing. “I think you have catechised Mr. Sullivan quite enough for the present.”

The next hour was spent by the child in wandering all over the farm. In company with her father and the good-humored shepherd, she examined the neat continuous racks all around the sheep-house, which, in winter, were filled with hay or husks for their food. Long troughs were underneath, into which, as night approached, she was much amused to see the boy, Isaac, pour the scalded meal.

In the centre of the house was a large, shallow box or trough, filled with clear water from a neighboring hill. This, Mr. Sullivan assured them, had not frozen during the winter.

Minnie stood for a long time watching the pearly drops as they trickled slowly through the pipe, wondering why the water never rose any higher in the trough. At length her father showed her a little pipe which carried off the waste water into the ground.

They were sitting at the supper table, and Minnie was giving a glowing account of her discoveries, when they were startled by a loud shouting: “Stop, Israel! Go along, Moses! Ssh! hi! there, Obadiah! Here, Jonah, Amos, Nebuchadnezzar, Moses! what are you about?”

“What is the stupid fellow bringing up the sheep at this time for?” queried Mr. Sullivan, glancing at the clock; and then, seeing the look of merriment on the faces of his visitors, he burst into a hearty laugh.

“I believe you’ll have to excuse me,” he said, rising hastily. “Isaac will never be able to get them into the fold alone.”

“I want to go, too,” whispered Minnie.

She was rather frightened at first at the loud bleating of the ewes, and the responsive cries of the lambs; but keeping close to the shepherd, had the satisfaction of feeling that she was of great assistance in driving them into the enclosure.

The moment they began to enter the sheep-house, the boy, Isaac, commenced a loud, shrill whistle, which the sheep seemed to understand, and which her friend informed her directed them to the troughs for their supper.

“I didn’t mean to shelter them for an hour yet,” exclaimed the lad, when his master blamed him for driving them to the fold so early; “but Jeroboam butted down a rail in the fence, and before I knew it, the crazy creatures were all out in the garden.”

“We must kill that fellow if he does much more mischief,” Mr. Sullivan said; and taking Minnie’s hand, they returned to the house.

“It speaks well for Isaac’s knowledge of Scripture,” remarked Mr. Lee, archly, “that he has chosen the names so appropriately.”

“O! He goes to mother for that,” was the ready answer; “but it does surprise me to see how he recognizes every one. I believe he is as well acquainted with the name and character of every sheep and lamb as a pastor is with his congregation. I often hear him talking to one for being selfish, or praising another for her meekness. I am well enough acquainted with Jeroboam to know that he is as obstinate and self-willed as his illustrious namesake.”

“Isaac says little Abner is a thief,” exclaimed Minnie, laughing.

“So he is, and steals his supper from the ewes whenever he can get it, at the expense of many a poor lamb.”

“I saw Minnie again, mother, and I knew her in a minute.”

“You’d make a capital shepherdess,” added Mr. Sullivan; “you’d govern them all by love.”

“That is the way you do,” remarked his mother.

“Well, there is no other way. Sometimes they are rather provoking; but I always feel ashamed of myself when I lose my temper with a brute. There is nothing like kindness to conquer even the most obstinate animal. Last winter, I had a man to help me. He was giving one of the ewes a dose of medicine, and she struggled so hard to get away that she threw over the cup three successive times. I found he could do nothing with her, and so I myself undertook the job. The poor creature was by that time so frightened, that when I forced the spoon between her teeth, she bit my finger to the bone. I said nothing of the pain until I had accomplished my object – ”

“And then you came near fainting,” interrupted his mother. “The finger was a long time in healing.”

“The man was terribly angry,” added the shepherd, “and showed so much spite to the innocent cause of his rage, that I told him he was unfit for the care of animals; that he degraded himself to a brute when he revenged on them his own awkwardness. I dismissed him, and took Isaac, who is worth a dozen such fellows.”

The next morning, Minnie arose in season to help Isaac drive the sheep from the fold to the pasture; and then, having received a promise from Mrs. Sullivan to save some of the lamb’s wool, and knit Minnie a pair of stockings, she took leave of the farm, exclaiming, as she rode off, “O, I do love sheep, and I wish we lived on a farm!”

CHAPTER VII.

THE SHEPHERD’S DOG

A few mornings after this, Minnie went out at an early hour to see her pets in the stable, when she found the sheep lying on its side, quiet and still. She did not, as usual, spring forward to eat the corn which Minnie was sure to have for her, but only raised a feeble, plaintive cry.

As her father was already gone to the city, Minnie flew to the house, for Anne to come and tell her what was the matter with poor Nannie.

Anne looked very sober after examining the sheep, and then said, “It must have a dose of medicine at once.”

Poor Minnie was dreadfully excited, and looked really pale, though, like a brave little girl, she insisted on holding the cup from which nurse was feeding sick Nannie. Star, too, seemed really anxious, and he was quite careful to keep his own side of the stall, for fear he should hurt his favorite.

Through the day, Minnie visited the barn as often as twice in an hour, and always insisted that Anne should accompany her. Before her father returned, she had the satisfaction of knowing that Nannie was much better. She was still very weak, but her eyes looked brighter, and she chewed her cud, which Anne said was a good sign.

To turn her mind from her trouble, Mr. Lee took his book again, and said, —

“Minnie, did you ever hear of a sheep that had so fat a tail that it weighed more than fifty pounds?”

“O, no, sir,” answered the child, laughing; “how funny they must look!”

“They are called the fat-tailed sheep,” added her father, “and are natives of Africa.”