."

He rose, and after several efforts succeeded in capturing the
black-faced creature, and bringing him up to the log. He was very shy of
Miss Laura, but Mr. Wood held him firmly, and let her stroke his head as
much as she liked. "You call him little," said Mr. Wood; "if you put
your arm around him, you'll find he's a pretty substantial lamb. He was
born in March. This is the last of July; he'll be shorn the middle of
next month, and think he's quite grown up. Poor little animal! he had
quite a struggle for life. The sheep were turned out to pasture in
April. They can't bear confinement as well as the cows, and as they bite
closer they can be turned out earlier, and get on well by having good
rations of corn in addition to the grass, which is thin and poor so
early in the spring. This young creature was running by his mother's
side, rather a weak-legged, poor specimen of a lamb. Every night the
flock was put under shelter, for the ground was cold, and though the
sheep might not suffer from lying out-doors, the lambs would get
chilled. One night this fellow's mother got astray, and as Ben neglected
to make the count, she wasn't missed. I'm always anxious about my lambs
in the spring, and often get up in the night to look after them. That
night I went out about two o'clock. I took it into my head, for some
reason or other, to count them. I found a sheep and lamb missing, took
my lantern and Bruno, who was some good at tracking sheep, and started
out. Bruno barked and I called, and the foolish creature came to me, the
little lamb staggering after her. I wrapped the lamb in my coat, took it
to the house, made a fire, and heated some milk. Your Aunt Hattie heard
me and got up. She won't let me give brandy even to a dumb beast, so I
put some ground ginger, which is just as good, in the milk, and forced
it down the lamb's throat. Then we wrapped an old blanket round him, and
put him near the stove, and the next evening he was ready to go back to
his mother. I petted him all through April, and gave him
extras--different kinds of meal, till I found what suited him best; now
he does me credit."

"Dear little lamb," said Miss Laura, patting him. "How can you tell him
from the others, uncle?"

"I know all their faces, Laura. A flock of sheep is just like a crowd of
people. They all have different expressions, and have different
dispositions."

"They all look alike to me," said Miss Laura.

"I dare say. You are not accustomed