cried: "Ca nan, nan,
nan!" black faces began to peer out from among the bushes; and little
black legs, carrying white bodies, came hurrying up the stony paths from
the cooler parts of the pasture. Oh, how glad they were to get the salt!
Mr. Wood let Miss Laura spread it on some flat rocks, then they sat down
on a log under a tree and watched them eating it and licking the rocks
when it was all gone. Miss Laura sat fanning herself with her hat and
smiling at them. "You funny, woolly things," she said; "You're not so
stupid as some people think you are. Lie still, Joe. If you show
yourself, they may run away."

I crouched behind the log, and only lifted my head occasionally to see
what the sheep were doing. Some of them went back into the woods, for it
was very hot in this bare part of the pasture, but the most of them
would not leave Mr. Wood, and stood staring at him. "That's a fine
sheep, isn't it?" said Miss Laura, pointing to one with the blackest
face, and the blackest legs, and largest body of those near us.

"Yes; that's old Jessica. Do you notice how she's holding her head close
to the ground?"

"Yes; is there any reason for it?"

"There is. She's afraid of the grub fly. You often see sheep holding
their noses in that way in the summer time. It is to prevent the fly
from going into their nostrils, and depositing an egg, which will turn
into a grub and annoy and worry them. When the fly comes near, they give
a sniff and run as if they were crazy, still holding their noses close
to the ground. When I was a boy, and the sheep did that, we thought that
they had colds in their heads, and used to rub tar on their noses. We
knew nothing about the fly then, but the tar cured them, and is just
what I use now. Two or three times a month during hot weather, we put a
few drops of it on the nose of every sheep in the flock."

"I suppose farmers are like other people, and are always finding out
better ways of doing their work, aren't they, uncle?" said Miss Laura.

"Yes, my child. The older I grow, the more I find out, and the better
care I take of my stock. My grandfather would open his eyes in
amazement; and ask me if I was an old women petting her cats, if he were
alive, and could know the care I give my sheep. He used to let his flock
run till the fields were covered with snow, and bite as close as they
liked, till there wasn't a scrap of feed left. Then he would give them
an open shed to run under, and throw down th