He had caught the spirit of patience, of acceptance of ills, from the settlers about.
'But the sheep, nothing will give them life again!' The girl's eyes burned.
The boy had no fortitude against this; he gave a sudden wet glance towards the far end of the selection.
'Let's go and see how they're getting on,' he said in a low tone.
The girl rebelled.
'No—why?' she said. 'It only makes us miserable, and we can't help.'
'All right, you go back,' Bart said. 'I'll have to go. I might have to light another fire.'
Hermie followed him.
The sheep crept away from the house to die, once they found no water was to be had there. They chose to lie down and cease to be at the spot where once had been a dam. Patches of ashes showed where Bart had piled wood over the poor carcases and burnt them up, in his wise young knowledge that the air must be kept pure.
None were dead to-day, though fifty seemed dying. Half a dozen brown ragged little lambs filled the air with piteous outcry.