




Transcriber's Note

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. A list of corrections
is found at the end of the text.




[Illustration: "Nannie! Nannie! come and get your breakfast!" P. 16.]

[Illustration: MINNIE and her PETS
  BY MRS MADELINE LESLIE
  MINNIE'S PET LAMB.]




                       MINNIE'S PET LAMB.


                               BY

                      MRS. MADELINE LESLIE,
  AUTHOR OF "THE LESLIE STORIES," "TIM, THE SCISSORS-GRINDER,"
                              ETC.


                          ILLUSTRATED.


                             BOSTON:
                        LEE AND SHEPARD,
              SUCCESSORS TO PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO.
                             1864.




Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by

A. R. BAKER,

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.

ELECTROTYPED AT THE BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY.




                    TO MY YOUNG FRIEND,

                  HENRY FOWLE DURANT, JR.

                  =These Little Volumes=

               ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED

                      BY THE AUTHOR,

  IN THE EARNEST HOPE THAT THEY MAY INCREASE IN HIM THAT
      LOVE OF NATURE AND OF RURAL LIFE WHICH HAS EVER
          EXERTED SO SALUTARY AN INFLUENCE IN THE
              FORMATION OF THE CHARACTERS OF
                    THE WISE AND GOOD.




MINNIE AND HER PETS.

  Minnie's Pet Parrot.
  Minnie's Pet Cat.
  Minnie's Pet Dog.
  Minnie's Pet Horse.
  Minnie's Pet Lamb.
  Minnie's Pet Monkey.





MINNIE'S PET LAMB.




CHAPTER I.

NANNIE AND THE PONY.


In another book, about Minnie's pet pony, I have already given you some
account of Nannie, her pet lamb.

This had all the peculiarities of the South Down, to which breed of
sheep it belonged. It had full, bright, black eyes, a small head, and a
brownish-gray face and legs. Its back was straight and wide, and covered
with fine, short wool, which protected it from the cold.

When Mr. Lee first brought the lamb home, it cried, or bleated,
continually. It was placed in a pen close by the stall where Star, the
Shetland pony, was kept, and, the next day after it came, managed to get
over the light railing which separated them, and creep up close to the
animal.

I don't know what Star thought of the little creature; but I suppose he
was pleased to have a companion, for when the hostler went to feed him,
he found them on very social terms. After this, the lamb's affection for
Star grew so strong that it soon forgot all about its mother and its old
friends, and gave its whole heart to the new one. The pony returned the
love, and was as kind to his little companion as he could possibly be.
He never seemed better pleased than when the lamb was standing quietly
by his side, eating the hay or turnips with which it was fed, or when,
its hunger being appeased, it lay down close under his nose, and chewed
its cud by the hour together.

At such times, the pony was careful not to step on it, or injure it in
any way, but expressed his delight in its society by little short
neighs, which were sometimes answered by a responsive note.

In a few days they understood each other perfectly, and were as well
acquainted, and as fond of each other, as if they had lived together all
their lives.

Mr. Lee, who was visiting Minnie's pets with his little daughter, said,
one morning, it would never do for the lamb to stand in the stall, so
closely confined from the out-door air; and he directed John to turn it
out into the barn yard for a few hours every day.

The man did so; but the poor lamb bleated at this separation from its
friend, until the groom happened to think such a change would do Star
good too.

As soon as the lamb saw the horse coming through the barn door, it
stopped crying, and ran toward him just as it would if he had been its
mother.

Star put down his head to his favorite, when the lamb frisked and
gambolled about him, occasionally nibbling at his nose, when he would
start back, and, thinking this fine fun, would begin to dance again. O,
what a pleasant time they did have!

Every morning, Minnie went with her bowl of milk for Nannie, into
which, as the lamb grew older, she crumbled some pieces of bread. It was
a pretty sight to see the little creature peeping shyly, with its bright
eyes, from behind its friend, and then coming a few steps toward her,
when she called, in her low, sweet voice,--

"Nannie! Nannie! come and get your breakfast!"

Then she held the bowl down where the lamb could reach to put its mouth
in, and laughed to see how much the pretty pet liked the milk.

One morning the lamb had been eating so many turnips that it was not
very hungry; and when Minnie called, it did not obey. In vain the little
girl called out, in her softest tones, "Nannie, Nannie! come, pretty
Nannie, and drink your milk."

At last, the child went into the stable to see what was the matter with
her pet, and there her father and mother presently found her, stooping
down on the hay by the side of Star, with the lamb's head in her lap.

"Minnie! Minnie! come out, quick! The horse will kick you," exclaimed
her mother, greatly alarmed; but Mr. Lee only laughed, as he said,--

"No, indeed; Star loves his young mistress too much for that. Let the
child be; she is doing well enough."

"But she will soil her clothes, and get her shoes covered with dirt,"
urged the lady, still looking anxious.

"O, mamma!" cried Minnie, "I'm in a real clean place on this straw, and
Nannie likes to lick my hand. How funny Star is looking round to see
what I am doing to his friend."

A few hours later, when Mrs. Lee sat with her sewing in the back parlor,
the little girl ran into the room, and taking a cricket, pulled it
toward her mother, saying,--

"I want you to tell me all you know about sheep and lambs. Can they do
such wonderful things, as dogs, and horses, and cats can?"

The lady laughed. "I am afraid," she began, "that you would not be
satisfied with what little I can tell you; for I confess that I know
very little about them. You had better wait till your father comes home,
for he has been studying a good many books on that subject, and has
learned about the different kinds, with a view to buying a flock.

"Or you can ask Anne; for she was brought up in a shepherd's family, and
can tell you all about the way they bring up little lambs when their
mothers will not own them."

"'Not own them,' mamma! What can you mean? I thought mothers always
owned their little children."

"Sometimes a ewe, as they call the mother, has two or three lambs at a
time; and perhaps she thinks she could not nurse them all, and so she
chooses one or two that she will take care of, and when the other comes
near 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!

[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."




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."

"Will you please tell me a story about sheep?" said the little girl.

"If you like a laughable story, I can tell you one which I was thinking
of not a minute since. It illustrates their habit of imitation. It is
often exceedingly difficult to drive a flock of sheep through a narrow
passage to which they are unaccustomed; but if one of them can be got
through, the rest follow without the slightest trouble.

"A butcher's boy was driving some fat sheep through Liverpool; but they
ran down a street where he did not wish them to go. The boy saw a man
before him sweeping the street, and called loudly to him,--

"'Stop them! Turn them about!'

"The man began to run from one side of the street to the other, always
opposing himself and his broom to them when they tried to force a
passage through; but the sheep became more and more excited, and
pressed forward with increasing impetuosity.

"At last, one of them came right up to the man, who was stooping down,
as if he were going to jump over him, which so frightened the fellow
that, instead of rising, he seized the short broomstick, with one hand
on either end, and held it over his head. He remained a few seconds in
this position, when the sheep made a spring, and jumped fairly over
him, without touching the broom.

"The first had no sooner done this, than another followed, and then
another, in quick succession, so that the man, perfectly confounded,
seemed to lose all recollection, and remained in the same attitude until
the whole flock had jumped over him, not one of them attempting to pass
on either side, though the street was quite clear.

"All this took place just after a wet day, so that the man was entirely
bespattered with mud and dirt before they had all passed; and it would
be impossible to conceive a more ludicrous appearance than the poor
fellow made on that occasion."




CHAPTER IV.

ATTACHMENT TO HOME.


"That's a real funny story," exclaimed Minnie, her eyes sparkling with
mirth, "only I can't help pitying that poor man."

"I can recall another, though a sadder incident," continued Mr.
Sullivan, "illustrating the same quality."

"In 1808, an accident happened in England to some sheep belonging to
Mr. Cooper, of Huilston Hall, who had intrusted them to the care of a
boy for that day, in the absence of the shepherd, who was assisting in
getting in the harvest.

"About the middle of the day, the sheep broke from their pasture, when
the thoughtless boy drove them back in great haste over a narrow and
deep ditch. The leading sheep fell in, and the remainder, passing over
them, smothered twenty-five sheep and forty lambs, the whole being worth
near four hundred dollars.

"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."

"Are there as many kinds of sheep as there are of dogs?"

"More, if all the inferior qualities are counted. They are constantly
multiplied, too; and there are many very greatly improved varieties. Now
I suppose you would like to hear about the sheep-dogs, and how they are
trained to take care of the flocks."

"Yes, sir, I should like that."

"In many parts of the world, where there are immense flocks, it is very
important to have dogs to assist in taking care of them. But as a sheep
considers the dog an enemy, and is more afraid of him than of almost any
other animal it meets, it is necessary, in the first place, to get these
animals acquainted, that they may feel friendly.

"In order to do this, when one of the ewes has a lamb, the shepherd
takes it from her, and puts a young puppy in its place.

"After being held two or three times while the puppy suckles her, the
ewe will generally adopt the little creature, and love it as well as if
it was her own lamb.

"All this time, the puppy has a bed of wool to lie on, to accustom him
to the smell of the animal; and by the time he is weaned, he becomes so
attached to his new friends, that he will never forsake them, nor leave
the particular drove with which he has been brought up. Not even the
voice of his master can entice him out of sight of the flock. No hunger
and thirst can do it. There he remains, constant and true to his charge,
ready even to lay down his life for them, while they regard him not only
as a dearly loved friend, but as a protector and guide, whom it is
their duty to obey. Did you ever know, Minnie, that the Italian wolf dog
has short wool under his hair? This is the case, the wool resembling the
Leicester and Lincoln breeds.

"One of these faithful, noble animals takes charge of a thousand sheep,
going out with them in the morning, and bringing them all back at night.

"If one of the sheep strays from its companions, the dog follows it,
even into a strange flock, takes it carefully by the ear, and leads it
back.

"When a stranger approaches the flock, the dog advances, barking, and
the sheep all close in his rear, as if round the oldest ram, while they
are so fierce with other dogs and wolves, that it is said a whole pack
of hungry wild dogs will not venture to attack them.

"The only trouble with the sheep-dog is, that when they are young, they
like to play with the sheep, and sometimes run them unmercifully; but
when they are older, they seem fully to understand their duty, and walk
up and down continually on the outer side of the flock, ever watchful
for the approach of danger.

"Sometimes, where there is a scarcity of grass, two flocks will be
brought within a short distance of each other, when these faithful
sentinels place themselves in the space between them, and if one or a
number attempt to rush across and make acquaintance with their
neighbors, their respective dog gently but firmly selects them from all
the others, and leads them back. What is very strange is the fact that
on such occasions, the other dog stands quietly by until the intruders
are removed, while no force would induce him to allow the strange dog
to enter his flock on any other pretence.

"A very affecting instance of the faithfulness of these animals I will
tell you.

"A shepherd dog, having the charge of a small flock, was allowed to
wander with them into the mountains, while the shepherd returned to his
village for a few days, having perfect confidence in the ability of the
animal to protect them, but with a strange forgetfulness to provide the
dog with food.

"Upon his return to the flock, he found it several miles from the place
where he had left it, but on the road leading to the village, while the
poor dog, in the midst of plenty, was lying by the roadside in the
agonies of death by starvation. He might have torn one of the lambs to
pieces; but so devoted was he to his charge, that rather than injure
one of them he sacrificed his own life."

"What a wicked man!" cried Minnie, indignantly. "I shouldn't think he
would ever forgive himself."

"Yes, it was cruel; but no doubt he felt the loss keenly, as it could
not readily be made up. Another dog must be brought up among them, and
be trained to his business; for it is a mistake to suppose that,
however well taught a shepherd's dog may be, he will be allowed by the
sheep to come among them until they have learned to regard him as a
friend and protector."

"I heard, not long since, a laughable story, to illustrate this fact.

"Mr. Thomas Jefferson, one of our Presidents, having a flock of sheep on
his place at Monticello, was very glad to receive a thoroughly broken
shepherd dog which had been sent him.

"Soon after its arrival, he had a number of distinguished guests, to
whom he made known his recent gift, the convenience of having a dog to
manage his flock, and the almost incredible ability of the animal, and
whom he led forth to witness the value of his present.

"The dog had not as yet been admitted to the sheep, but at the word of
command sprang in among them.

"The terrified animals fled in all directions, some of them dashing
themselves over precipices, and breaking their necks.

"The dog either shared the same fate, or, mortified at his failure, felt
his pride too deeply wounded to return. Mr. Jefferson never recovered
him."




CHAPTER VIII.

HARRY AND HATTY.


One pleasant morning in June, Mr. Lee ordered the carriage, and drove
with Minnie to a delightful residence on the border of a lovely lake.
Minnie had often been here to visit little Harry, only child of her
mother's friends.

This dear boy, like Minnie, had many pets, and could fully sympathize
with her in her love for animals and for the beauties of nature.

Harry had a pony named Cherokee; he had also pretty birds, that he
delighted to watch, as they hung in their cage.

But the pet which Harry loved more than all others was a lamb, which he
had named Hatty. This little creature had been given him but a short
time before Minnie's visit; but it had learned to know his voice, to
run to meet him, and to eat grass from his hand.

When Hatty was first carried from her mother to Harry's home, she cried
for her usual companions. The boy's tender heart was touched, and he
begged his father to let the lamb sleep in his room.

"She will be so lonely!" he urged; "and I shall want to take care of
her. Please, papa, be so kind as to let me have her there."

His parents, ever anxious to please their dear child, readily consented;
but first his mamma allowed him to take his pet into the lake for a
bath.

Nurse, laughing at his delight, dressed Harry in his red flannel bathing
suit; and then, with his lamb in his arms, he waded into the water.

Hatty was a little afraid; but even in those few hours that she had
been with her young master, she had learned that he would not allow her
to be injured.

When the lamb's soft wool was dry, as it soon was in the hot sun, his
father left his reading in the parlor to help him find a basket large
enough for the lamb's bed.

In the morning, when his mother went into his chamber, she laughed to
see that he had taken his pet to share his own bed, and was lying with
his arms around her neck, kissing her with demonstrative affection.

"Pretty little Hatty!" he exclaimed, again and again; "I do love you so
dearly!"

Minnie had scarcely alighted from the carriage, when Harry cried out,
"Please come and see my lamb."

The child smilingly followed him to the field, where the little
creature was learning to graze in the rich clover. As soon as she heard
his voice, she ran toward him, bleating and showing every mark of strong
affection. She was a pretty lamb, with long, silky wool, gentle eyes,
and a meek, loving expression.

During the day, the two children were scarcely a moment away from Hatty;
for Harry's heart was moved by her cries for him, and he was so fond of
her he could not endure a separation. Sometimes they would sit down on
the clean, sweet grass, the boy laying his head on Hatty's neck; but
more commonly they were running over the lawn, with the lamb close at
their heels, sharing their happiness.

"O, mamma," he exclaimed, when they went in to dinner, "we have had such
a funny time! Hatty knows Minnie now quite well; but she does not love
her, of course, as she does me. She cries for me whenever she cannot see
me."

His mother smiled, and then asked, "Have you told Minnie about Una, and
what Hatty does while you are learning your lessons?"

"O, no, mamma! I quite forgot to tell her."

"Will you please tell me about Una?" urged Minnie, with great
earnestness.

"Yes, dear. Una was the name of a lamb I once saw. She was not gentle
and loving, as Harry's lamb is; she was more lively, and full of tricks.
She had a bad habit of browsing the trees, so that her mistress one day
told a servant to tie her to a stake in the orchard, or she would
destroy the young plants.

"Una had a little companion that was very quiet and inoffensive, but
was sometimes led by her into mischief. The next morning after she had
been tied, when the man went with the leather strap and string to lead
her to the orchard again, Una was nowhere to be found. All day long she
and her companion were off out of sight; but at night they came timidly
back, watching to see that the man did not catch them."

Minnie laughed heartily. "I suppose," she exclaimed, "that she ran away
to escape being tied, as our Leo used to when he wanted to go to
church."

"Yes; and she repeated the trick for several days. She was a very
cunning lamb, and would watch her chance, standing on her hind feet, to
eat the bark from the young trees, and pull the slender twigs down
toward the ground with her fore leg."

"Can you remember any thing more about her?" timidly inquired Minnie.

"Dinner is ready," answered the lady, smiling. "We shall not have time
now; but Harry may tell you about Hatty."

Harry stood up very straight, his bright eyes sparkling with pleasure;
then, with a motion peculiar to him, tossing the curls from his
forehead, and turning to Minnie, he said, in an animated tone, "Every
morning I have my lessons with mamma; but Hatty doesn't like me to
study, because she wants to be playing, you know. At first, she cried so
much that I couldn't get on at all well, until mamma put my stool close
to the door. You see it is glass, and she could look through the panes.
So she lies on the piazza outside, with her nose as close as she can get
it to me."

"And her loving eyes fixed on his face," added mamma, smiling at
Minnie's earnest gaze.

"Isn't it funny," cried the boy, leaning toward his young visitor, "for
her to sit still till my lessons are learned, so that I can say them all
by heart?

"O, mamma!" he shouted, "there's Hatty now."

And, true enough, the affectionate creature had followed them around the
house to the dining room, and there she stood butting against the
glass, to get to her dear little master.

"I do think," cried Minnie, enthusiastically, "that Hatty is the very
best lamb I ever saw."




MRS. LESLIE'S JUVENILE SERIES.

16mo.

MRS. LESLIE'S JUVENILE SERIES.

16mo.

FOR BOYS.

  Vol.   I. THE MOTHERLESS CHILDREN.
   "    II. PLAY AND STUDY.
   "   III. HOWARD AND HIS TEACHER.
   "    IV. JACK, THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER.

FOR GIRLS.

  Vol.   I. TRYING TO BE USEFUL.
   "    II. LITTLE AGNES.
   "   III. I'LL TRY.
   "    IV. ART AND ARTLESSNESS.




                       MINNIE'S PET HORSE.


                               BY

                      MRS. MADELINE LESLIE,
  AUTHOR OF "THE LESLIE STORIES," "TIM, THE SCISSORS-GRINDER,"
                              ETC.


                          ILLUSTRATED.


                             BOSTON:
                        LEE AND SHEPARD,
              SUCCESSORS TO PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO.
                             1864.




Transcriber's Note

The following typographical errors were corrected:

  Page  Error
  16    crumbed changed to crumbled
  48    their strength. changed to their strength."
  109   adjoining shelter. changed to adjoining shelter."
  143   companions, the changed to companions, the dog





