h. None of your sending
sheep to market with their legs tied together and jammed in a cart, and
sweating and suffering for me. They've got to go standing comfortably
on their legs, or go not at all. And I'm going to know the butcher
that kills my animals, that have been petted like children. I said to
Davidson, over there in Hoytville, 'If I thought you would herd my sheep
and lambs and calves together, and take them one by one in sight of the
rest, and stick your knife into them, or stun them, and have the others
lowing, and bleating, and crying in their misery, this is the last
consignment you would ever get from me.'

"He said, 'Wood, I don't like my business, but on the word of an honest
man, my butchering is done as well as it can be. Come and see for
yourself.'

"He took me to his slaughter-house, and though I didn't stay long, I saw
enough to convince me that he spoke the truth. He has different pens and
sheds, and the killing is done as quietly as possible; the animals are
taken in one by one, and though the others suspect what is going on,
they can't see it."

"These sheep are a long way from the house," said Miss Laura; "don't the
dogs that you were telling me about attack them?"

"No; for since I had that brush with Windham's dog, I've trained them
to go and come with the cows. It's a queer thing, but cows that will run
from a dog when they are alone will fight him if he meddles with their
calves or the sheep. There's not a dog around that would dare to come
into this pasture, for he knows the cows would be after him with lowered
horns, and a business look in their eyes. The sheep in the orchard
are safe enough, for they're near the house, and if a strange dog came
around, Joe would settle him, wouldn't you, Joe?" and Mr. Wood looked
behind the log at me.

I got up and put my head on his arm, and he went on: "By and by, the
Southdowns will be changed up here, and the Shropshires will go down
to the orchard. I like to keep one flock under my fruit trees. You know
there is an old proverb 'The sheep has a golden hoof.' They save me the
trouble of ploughing. I haven't ploughed my orchard for ten years, and
don't expect to plough it for ten years more. Then your Aunt Hattie's
hens are so obliging that they keep me from the worry of finding ticks
at shearing time. All the year round, I let them run among the sheep,
and they nab every tick they see."

"How closely sheep bite," exclaimed Miss Laura, pointing t