"Baa-a-a-a!" bleated the old ram, again stamping his foot, as he shook his lowered head.
"Oh, he's going to bunk right into Grandma Bell!" cried Laddie, on the safe side of the fence.
"I'll go back and help her drive the ram off," said Mother Bunker. "You children stay here."
"Will the old ram-sheep come and get us?" asked Vi.
"No, he can't get through the fence," her mother answered after a look around. "Don't be afraid."
By this time Margy's grandmother had caught the little girl up in her arms, and was walking away from the ram.
"I must cover your red coat up with my apron, and then the ram can't see it," said Grandma Bell. "It's the red color he doesn't like."
"'Cause why?" asked Margy.
"I don't know why—any more than I know why turkey gobblers and bulls don't like red," answered her grandmother. "But we had better get out of this meadow. I didn't know the ram was so saucy, or we should have gone around another way."
"Will he bite us?" Margy went on.