"Yes," said the little old woman, with a frown which frightened poor Whistlebinkie so that he gasped and whistled softly in spite of his efforts to keep quiet. "Yes, I've seen your sheep. I know just where they are, too. One of 'em's gone to the moon. Another has been adopted by a girl named Mary, who is going to take it to school and make the children laugh. Another has sold his wool to a city merchant, and the fourth has accepted an invitation to dinner from a member of Congress. He will reach the dinner at half-past seven to-night on a silver platter. He will be decorated with green peas and mint sauce. Now get along with you."
Mollie felt very sorry for poor Bopeep as she listened to this dreadful statement, and she was very much surprised to see Bopeep smiling through it all.
"Why did you smile?" she asked the little shepherdess as they wended their way home again.
"She lives on ink and it makes her disagreeable."
"Because I knew from what she said that she knew the sheep were safe—but she lives on ink, and that makes her disagreeable. She just wanted to make me feel as disagreeable as she does, and she told me all that nonsense to accomplish that purpose."
"The horrid thing!" said Mollie.
"No," said Bopeep. "She isn't really horrid. It's only because she lives on ink that she seems so. Suppose you had to live on ink?"
"I'd be horrid, too," said Mollie.
"There they are!" cried Bopeep joyfully, and sure enough there were the sheep, and they had brought their tails behind them, too. They were grazing close beside the hay-stack on which Mollie had been pondering.