“Open it, open it quick, please! I can’t wait!” cried Molly.
At the slightest touch now the lid fell off and there, lying on a mat of softest grass, was a tiny, new-born lamb. Ohs! and Ahs! and laughter greeted it, to which the small creature answered by another feeble “Ma-a-a!” then curled itself to sleep.
“What a pretty present! Who could have sent it?” wondered Lady Gray.
“One of the shepherds, likely; sheep herders they call them here. And it’s the first time I ever saw a lamb ‘snow white.’ The comparison, ‘white as a lamb’ is generally wrong, for they’re a dirty gray. This one has been washed within an inch of its life—literally. Some of you girls better take it to the dairy and give it some milk,” said Mr. Ford.
“Maybe there somebody will know about it or we’ll find the little boy again. He was so cute! Like a small Indian, he looked.”
“He might easily be one, Dorothy. There are still many bands of them roaming the mountains. Quite often, the ‘boys’ say, some come to San Leon. A peaceable lot, though, mostly, unless they get hold of liquor. But liquor turns even cultivated white men into brutes. Not likely we shall see any of them at this time of year, when life in the forest is pleasant.”
“Oh! Daniel, don’t talk of Indians at all! I don’t like them,” protested Mrs. Ford, with a little shudder. “I hope that child wasn’t one.”
“Well, we don’t know that he was. There are many people belonging to San Leon and other neighboring ranches and a child more or less isn’t enough to set us worrying. Hmm. Here comes the operator with a telegram. I was in hopes that I might escape them for a few weeks. News, Mr. Robson?”
The clerk’s face was grave and the young folks walked away; Dorothy carrying the basket with the lamb, the others following—with mischievous Molly prodding the little creature with her forefinger “to make it talk.”
But the boys were not interested in “young mutton” as Monty called it, and sought the ranchmen at their quarters to learn when they could go fishing, or what was better, hunting.