my girl, is a poor sorry creature that has just died,
and made me some shillings poorer than I was. You may take it if you
will, and do what you like with it."

Flora put down her milk and her bread, and taking up the lamb, viewed it
with looks of tenderness and compassion. "But why should I pity you?"
said she to the lamb. "Either this day or to-morrow they would have run
a great knife through your throat, whereas now you have nothing to
fear."

While she was thus speaking, the warmth of her arms somewhat revived
the lamb, who, opening its eyes a little, made a slight motion, and
cried baa, in a very low tone, as if it were calling for its mother. It
would be impossible to express little Flora's joy on this occasion. She
covered the lamb in her apron, and over that put her stuff petticoat;
she then bent her breast down towards her lap, in order to increase the
warmth, and blew into its mouth and nostrils with all the force she
could. By degrees the poor animal began to stir, and every motion it
made conveyed joy to her little heart.

This success encouraged her to proceed; she crumbled some of her bread
into her pan, and, taking it up in her fingers, she with no small
difficulty forced it between its teeth, which were very firmly closed
together. The lamb, whose only disorder was hunger and fatigue, began to
feel the effects of this nourishment. It first began to stretch out its
limbs, then shake its head, to wag its tail, and at last to prick up its
ears. In a little time, it was able to stand upon its legs, and then
went of itself to Flora's breakfast pan, who was highly delighted to see
it take such pleasing liberties; for she cared not a farthing about
losing her own breakfast, since it saved the life of the little lamb. In
short, in a little time, it recovered its usual strength, and began to
skip and play about its kind deliverer.

It may naturally be supposed, that Flora was greatly pleased at this
unexpected success. She took it up in her arms, and ran with it to the
cottage to shew it her mother. Her Baba, for so Flora called it, became
the first object of her cares, and it constantly shared with her in the
little allowance of bread and milk, which she received for her meals.
Indeed, so fond was she of it, that she would not have exchanged it for
a whole flock. Nor was Baba insensible of the fondness of her little
mistress, since she would follow her wherever she went, would come and
eat out of her hand,