Offering some bread she had brought with her, Bagga gradually enticed it away from the rest. She moved very slowly, to avoid alarming the others, over towards the natural bridge across the stream.
The dog trotted along behind, with its tail down. It was jealous of the lamb, knowing well that, when Bagga had it with her, any other creature must take second place. To approach her now would mean a scolding, and the dog had no desire to be sent back home, just when there was every prospect of something quite unusual happening.
All went well. The lamb gave no trouble, and the dog followed at a safe distance.
But the girl’s heart was sad; it was hard now to have to part with the lamb she had cherished as a link between her lover and herself—a tangible memory of the one she loved so deeply, yet with whom she had never spoken—whom she had only seen now and then at church on Sundays.
Reaching the bridge, she took off her garter and fastened it round the lamb’s neck, to have something to hold by in case the animal should take fright. Then carefully she led it across, the earth underfoot vibrating all the time with the rush of the water below.
After a time, the supply of breadcrumbs having ceased, the lamb grew lazy, and showed signs of becoming rebellious. It seemed to resent having been thus disturbed in the middle of the night. As long as there had been compensation in the way of dainty morsels to nibble, it was perhaps worth it, but now it would prefer to lie down and chew the cud in peace.
Bagga, however, persisted, and with coaxing and scolding urged on her little charge.
It was a long road, but at last they reached Borg.
Quietly as possible she opened the gate of the enclosure. It would never do to rouse the dogs. Then she stroked the lamb sadly in farewell, her tears falling on its woolly fleece, and thrust it through the gate, which she closed after it.
She had forgotten to take her garter from its neck.