that Alice was rather pleased to be rid of him.
"Perhaps he don't know any better," said Bessie. "He'll have to be teached."
"'Deed does he," said Alice, as if she were glad she was no longer to have the teaching of him.
"Grandpapa," said Maggie, "may we take Flossy up to the house now, so that he may be used to us before we go home?"
Grandpapa said they might, and Maggie told Bessie that she should carry him.
"I'll only carry him half the way," said Bessie, "and you can carry him the yest."
But Flossy had no mind to be carried at all. He liked to frisk about on his own four feet, and was quite ready to run after his little mistresses. Indeed, the puppies were all so well pleased with their new playmates that the other two wished to go also, and Donald had to shut them up to prevent them from following.
Grandpapa said they would not go directly home, but through the orchard, and so down to the river bank. In the orchard the men were picking the early apples and packing them in barrels, and grandpapa, going to one of them, chose two large rosy-cheeked apples and gave one to Maggie and one to Bessie. They stood a while watching the men, and then turned to go on.
Between the orchard and the river lay a broad green field, and in this field several cows and a large flock of sheep were feeding. Now Bessie, although she was not a timid child about many things, was afraid of cattle; and as Mr. Duncan opened the gate into the field, she drew back.
"Grandpa," she said, "bettern't we go the other way?"
"I think not," said grandpapa. "This way is the pleasantest, and I have something to show you down by the water."
"But if we should be bucked, what would our mamma say?" asked the little girl, still looking timidly at the cows.
"We shall not be bucked, dear," said grandpapa, smiling. "Does my Bessie think I would take her or Maggie where there was danger?"
"No, grandpapa, but – " Bessie still hung back.
"You shall not go this way, dear, if you do not wish; but these are our cows, and I know them to be all peaceable and good-tempered. But if we turn back and go through the garden again, I shall be too tired to take you down to the river."
"I think we'll go this way," said Bessie, and so they went on; but as they passed the cows, grandpapa felt the little hand he held nestle itself very tightly in his own, and as he saw how her color came and went, he was sorry he had not turned back. The cows did not notice them at all, not even when Flossy, who seemed to think it would be a very fine thing to bark at something so much larger than himself, ran up to one and began woof woofing in a very absurd manner. The cow just lifted up her head and looked at him for a moment; then, as if she well knew that such a tiny thing could do her no harm, put it down and began to eat again.
"Isn't it er-dic-u-lous, grandpapa," said Maggie, "to see Flossy barking at that great cow?"
"Rather ridiculous," answered grandpapa. "Look at those little lambs, Bessie."
Bessie quite forgot the cows when she saw the lambs playing by the side of their mothers. But when Flossy found the cattle cared nothing for him, he thought he would try to make a little fuss here, and away he ran after one of the lambs. The sheep did not take it as quietly as the cows; the lamb was frightened, and the mother, who did not understand that this was Flossy's fun, and that he could not have hurt her child even if he had wished to, put it behind her, and lowering her head, stamped her foot at Flossy as if she were very angry. Mr. Duncan called the puppy away, but he would not mind, and Maggie ran to take him up in her arms. The poor sheep saw her and thought here was something else coming to hurt her baby, so she must fight a little herself. She ran at Maggie, and butting her head against the little girl, threw her over upon the grass. The other sheep had stood looking on; but now, as if afraid of being punished for what one of their number had done, the whole flock turned and scampered away to the opposite side of the field.
Maggie sat up upon the grass. She was not at all hurt, but rather frightened and very much astonished.
"Are you hurt, little woman?" asked grandpapa, as he lifted her up and placed her upon her feet.
"No, grandpapa, but – who did it?"
"Who did it? Why, the mother sheep there."
"She is very ungrateful," said Maggie, indignantly. "I came to help her, and she oughtn't to do it."
"She did not know that, dear," said grandpapa. "She thought you, too, were coming to hurt her lamb, and she could not tell what else to do. See there, Bessie, the cows which you were so afraid of did not even look at us, while this meek, timid sheep, of which you had not the least fear, has knocked over Maggie. Do not look so distressed, dear; Maggie is not hurt at all."
It was some time before Bessie could quite believe this. It seemed to her scarcely possible that her dear Maggie should have been thrown down in such a rude fashion, and yet not be hurt. But so it was; not a scratch nor a bruise was to be found. The ground was not very hard just here, and the grass quite soft and long; and beyond the fright and a streak or two of earth on her white dress, Maggie had received no harm from her fall. It made her feel rather sober, however, and she walked quietly along by grandpapa's side without skipping and jumping as she had done before.
"Grandpapa," said Bessie, "don't you think the sheep ought to know better?"
"Well, Bessie, I think we must not blame the poor creature. She did not know that Maggie was her friend, and Flossy had frightened her and made her angry. If she had been alone, she would probably have run away; but she loved her child better than she did herself, and took the best way she knew to keep it from harm."
"You are very naughty, Flossy," said Bessie. "You did a deal of misfit. You frightened the poor little lambie, and made my Maggie be knocked down."
"Yes," said Maggie, "he'll have to be taught, 'to do to others.' Poor little fellow! He don't know much himself."
"Yes," said Mr. Duncan, "like all young things, he has much to learn, and his teachers must have a good deal of patience."
"Grandpapa," said Bessie, "are not lambs pretty good baby animals?"
"I rather think they are, Bessie. Perhaps their mammas sometimes find them troublesome; but we seldom or never hear of a lamb getting into mischief or naughty ways. So when a child is obedient and gentle, we say it is like a little lamb."
"Mamma taught us such a pretty hymn last week about a lamb," said Bessie.
"Can't you let me hear it?" said grandpapa. So Bessie repeated these verses: —
"Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life, and gave thee feed,
By the stream, and o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight, —
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice.
Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
"Little lamb, I'll tell thee!
Little lamb, I'll tell thee!
He is callèd by thy name.
For He calls Himself a lamb.
He is
