hem and you
must excuse me. I wish to see a few of my old friends before the sun
goes down. Good afternoon!" And he darted away.

The young Doves came pattering back, swaying their heads as they walked.
"Why, where is the Swallow?" they cried. "What made him go away? Right
at the best part of the story, too. We don't see why folks are so
disagreeable. People never are as nice to us as they are to the other
young Doves."

"Hush," said their mother. "You mustn't talk in that way. Fly off for
something to eat, and never mind about the rest of the story."

When they were gone, she said to her husband, "I wonder if they did hurt
the Swallow's feelings? But then, they are so young, hardly more than
Squabs."

She forgot that even Squabs should be thoughtful of others, and that no
Dove ever amounts to anything unless he begins in the right way as a
Squab.

THE LAMB WITH THE LONGEST TAIL

The Sheep are a simple and kind-hearted family, and of all the people on
the farm there are none who are more loved than they. All summer they
wander in the fields, nibbling the fresh, sweet grass, and resting at
noon in the shadow of the trees, but when the cold weather comes they
are brought up to the farmyard and make their home in the long low
Sheep-shed.

That is always a happy time. The Horses breathe deeply and toss their
heads for joy, the Cows say to each other, "Glad to have the Sheep come
up," and even the Oxen shift their cuds and look long over their
shoulders at the woolly newcomers. And this is not because the Sheep
can do anything for their neighbors to make them warm or to feed them.
It is only because they are a gentle folk and pleasant in all they say;
and you know when people are always kind, it makes others happy just to
see them and have them near.

Then, when the cold March winds are blowing, the good farmer brings more
yellow straw into the Sheep-shed, and sees that it is warm and snug. If
there are any boards broken and letting the wind in, he mends them and
shuts out the cold. At this time, too, the Horses and Cattle stop often
in their eating to listen. Even the Pigs, who do not think much about
their neighbors, root in the corners nearest the Sheep-shed and prick up
their ears.

Some bleak morning they hear a faint bleating and know that the first
Lamb is there. And then from day to day they hear more of the soft
voices as the new Lambs come to live with the flock. Such queer little
creatures as