The Sheep and Lamb

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Bessie's Country Stories.

SIX VOLUMES.

THE SHEEP AND LAMB. THE YOUNG DONKEY. THE LITTLE RABBIT-KEEPERS. THE COCK OF THE WALK. THE COWS IN THE WATER. THE YOUNG ANGLER.

Bessie's Country Stories.

THE SHEEP AND LAMB.

BY THOMAS MILLER.

ILLUSTRATED.

New York: SHELDON AND COMPANY. 1871.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, By SHELDON AND COMPANY, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District of New York.

Electrotyped at the BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY, No. 19 Spring Lane.

The Sheep and Lamb.

THE PET LAMB.

WHERE you see the square church-tower, in the picture of the "Sheep and Lamb," stands the pretty village of Greenham, hidden behind the trees. The sheep and lambs that appear so little, because they are such a way off, are grazing on Greenham Common. The two that are so near you, and the pet lamb, round the neck of which the little boy has placed his arm, are in a small paddock, often called a croft, close, or field, that is separated from the Common by a bank, on the top of which the little child sits who is feeding the sheep. The girl holding the child, and the boy looking over his shoulder, live at Greenham, and have come across the Common to ask how Johnny's father is, and to look at his pet lamb. You will notice that Johnny looks very grave and sad; and well he may, for his father has met with an accident, and has not been able to do any work for several weeks, and is so poor that he will be forced to sell his two sheep and Johnny's pet lamb to pay the rent of his cottage. You cannot see the cottage in the picture, nor anything but a bit of the little field that lies at the back of it, in which the boy sits fondling his lamb. That girl is servant in a great farm-house, though she does very little besides looking after the children and feeding the poultry, for they keep great strong servant girls where she lives, to milk, and brew, and cook, and wash, and clean, and make butter and cheese in the dairy. She is a girl with a very feeling heart, and the two boys she has brought across the Common are very fond of her, and many a merry romp do they have together.

"So, father is not able to get about yet," she says to Johnny, "and he is going to sell your pet lamb to pay the rent? I am so sorry, Johnny, and wish I were a rich lady; then your lamb should not be sold. But I am only a poor girl, and have but a shilling a week and my victuals." The tears stood in Johnny's eyes, and he folded the lamb tighter in his arms, and said, "It's a deal fonder of me than our Gip, for he runs away from me, and barks at everything he sees. It follows me everywhere, and licks my face and hands, and if I pretend to run away and hide myself, it stands and looks about, and bleats for me, just as it used to do when it was quite a little thing, and wanted its mammy. Father says I mustn't cry; he hopes he shall get well soon, and next spring I shall have another pet lamb, and he won't sell that until it's a great fat sheep. But I can't help it; and I shall never have another little lamb I shall be so fond of as this, shall I?" And he drew the lamb closer to him, and looked very tenderly at it when he said "Shall I?" and the lamb went "ba-a-a," as if it said, as well as it could, "No, never;" then it lay down, with its pretty head on his arm.

"I'll tell you what I'll do, Johnny," said the little boy who stood behind his brother close to the tree, "I'll give you one of my lambs, for father has given me two to do what I like with; then your father can sell it, for it's bigger than yours, and you can still keep your own pet lamb. Come with me, Polly, and help to drive it here, and make it jump over the bank; then you won't cry, will you, Johnny?"

"No," said Johnny, crying harder than ever, for the kindness of the rich farmer's little son touched Johnny's tender heart as much as the sorrow he felt for the loss of his lamb, which he came to bid farewell to, as the butcher was coming with his cart in the cool of the evening to take it away, along with its mother and another fat sheep.

Polly, who was a strong girl of her age, at once snatched up the little boy, who was sitting on the bank feeding the sheep, and ran off with him in her arms to help Charley to drive his lamb off the Common--where it was feeding--into the little close, to be in readiness for the butcher when he came with his cart. They had some trouble with it, for it had not been petted like Johnny's; and Charley had many pets that he cared more for than he did for his lambs.

When it was driven off the Common, and made to jump over the bank into the paddock where Johnny still sat fondling his pet lamb--and not until then--that artful little Polly said, "Ought not you to have asked your father first, Master Charley, before you gave Johnny one of your lambs?"

"What should I ask father for, when he gave them to me to do what I liked with--sell, or give away, or anything?" asked Charley; and there was a proud expression in his handsome face, which brought the color to Polly's cheeks, and made her feel that she had no right to interfere, though she had "aided and abetted," inasmuch as she had helped to drive the lamb into the little close.

"I shall look out to-night for butcher Page's white horse," said Charley, "and when he passes our door, cut across the corner of the Common, and be here before him, Johnny, and help to drive the sheep and lamb out, and tie yours up to the apple-tree until he's gone. Don't say anything to your father and mother until butcher Page has gone."

Johnny promised he wouldn't, so went in-doors, his lamb following him, while the one Charley had given him made himself quite at home, and began nibbling away at a little patch of white clover which grew in one corner of the field.

Johnny's father was a hard-working laboring man; but farm labor is so poorly paid for in most country places, that it is very difficult to save up more than a few shillings against sickness or accidents, which often happen unaware, as was the case with him; for the shaft-horse chanced to back suddenly, as he was going to fasten a gate, and the wagon wheel went over his foot and crushed it. He had not been able to work for several weeks; and though his master was kind to him in sending little things from the farm, he knew he must not expect him to pay his rent, and to do that he had to sell his two sheep and Johnny's pet lamb for a few pounds to butcher Page. He was a kind-hearted man; for as soon as the lamb entered the cottage it went up to him, and as he patted its pretty head, he sighed heavily, for he felt almost as much troubled at parting with it as did little Johnny.

You will seldom see a dumb animal go up to anybody, of its own accord, that is not kind to all God's creatures. They seem to know who loves them and who does not. Dogs, more than any other animals, seem gifted with the power of finding out those who are kind and those who are not. One strange boy shall pat a dog, and he will begin to wag his tail, while he growls if another boy only strokes him. I always like the boy best that the dog is pleased with. Johnny's lamb laid its head on his father's knee, and while he patted it he shut his eyes, as if it were painful for him to look at the pretty creature necessity compelled him to part with. It then went bleating up to Johnny's mother to be noticed, and as she stooped down to kiss it she had to "button up" her eyes very tight indeed to keep in the tears. Johnny kept his secret faithfully, and said not a word about the lamb his friend Charley had given him.

Instead of running across the corner of the Common in the evening, Charley and Polly, with his little brother sitting in her lap, came riding up to the cottage in the cart with the butcher; for Mr. Page had to call at the great farm-house on his way through Greenham about some fat calves he wanted to purchase of Charley's father. Polly asked if the children might ride with him, for she was very anxious about Johnny's pet lamb; and, as she said to Charley, "I shan't feel that it's quite safe until I see Mr. Page drive back without it."

Johnny's father was too lame to assist in getting the sheep and lamb into the cart, so Polly and Charley drove them out of the small close behind the cottage, while Johnny minded the little boy, who sat with his tiny arms round the lamb's neck, kissing it, and saying "so pitty," for he could not talk plain enough to say "pretty."

"Surely this can't be the same lamb I bargained for a week ago," said the butcher, as he was about to lift it into the cart; "why, it's got four or five pounds more meat on his back. You must give Johnny this shilling for himself. It's a much fatter lamb than I took it to be," and he gave the shilling for Johnny to his mother, after looking around, and not seeing the boy. Having paid the mother for the sheep and lamb, he drove off, and the poor dumb animals stood quiet, and seemed as happy in the cart as children who are only going away for a drive. How different they would look when put into the shed adjoining the slaughter-house, where so many sheep and lambs had been driven in to be killed.

What a blessing it is that we do not know beforehand what is going to happen to us, for if we did, how wretched we should feel, counting the hours and days until the evil befell us, and living a life of misery all the time. Nor is it ourselves alone that would be made miserable, but our parents, and all who love us; so that, however painful death may be, it is one of God's greatest mercies not to let us know when death, which comes to all, will come. This is not hard to understand, if you will be very still, and forgetting everything else, think about it.

The two sheep and the little lamb, as they were driven along the pretty country road in the butcher's cart, could have no more thought that they were carried away to be killed, than you would that some terrible accident might happen to you, if taken out for a ride.

No sooner had the butcher driven off than Polly ran into the little meadow, clapping her hands, and exclaiming, "All right, Johnny! he's gone!" then she stooped down and kissed the pretty lamb, which began to lick her brown, sun-tanned cheek, as if to show how grateful it was; for the few kind words she had uttered were the means of saving it from the butcher's knife.

When the children returned home across the Common, and after they had finished their supper of home-made brown bread and rich new milk, Charley went and stood between his father's legs, for the rich farmer was smoking his pipe, and had a jug of ale of his own brewing before him. Charley was deep enough to know that when his father was enjoying his pipe and jug of ale, after the day's labor was done, he was always in a good humor, and while Polly stood fidgeting and watching him, biting the corner of her blue pinafore all the time, and "wishing it was over," Charley looked up with his bold truthful eyes, and said, "Please, father, I gave Johnny Giles one of my lambs to-day to sell to the butcher, so that he might keep his own, which he is so fond of; it's such a pet, and he was crying so, and Mr. Page would have taken it away to-night in his cart if I hadn't given him mine, for you know Johnny's father is lame, and poor, and can't do any work, and so had to sell his two sheep and--"