“O, no! we always shelter them. At this season, we allow them to feed till late; the sun being so hot in the middle of the day, they all crowd under the shade of the hill.”
“But what do they do when it rains?”
“A warm shower doesn’t hurt the lambs; but we had some cold north-east storms earlier in the season, when we were obliged to drive them all in, as we couldn’t separate the lambs from their mothers. One day, we tried to keep the ewes out to feed, but they bleated so much for their little ones ‘twas no use; they wouldn’t eat.”
“I’m glad of that,” cried Minnie, eagerly. “I’m glad your sheep love their children. In Ireland, sometimes they won’t own them.”
“We had a great deal of trouble with the merinos,” Mr. Sullivan went on, directing his remark to Mr. Lee. “Not one in ten cared any thing about her lamb. If she had milk enough, I could tie her; but it often made my heart ache to hear the poor wee things crying for a mother’s care. I was almost glad when they died off, as they generally did. I find it’s the universal opinion now that merinos make poor nurses.”
The shepherd turned smilingly to Minnie: “Have you any more questions to ask, Miss?”
“O, a great many! But as we are going to stay all night, I shall have time.”
“Then, my dear, I will go in,” said her mother, laughing. “I think you have catechised Mr. Sullivan quite enough for the present.”
The next hour was spent by the child in wandering all over the farm. In company with her father and the good-humored shepherd, she examined the neat continuous racks all around the sheep-house, which, in winter, were filled with hay or husks for their food. Long troughs were underneath, into which, as night approached, she was much amused to see the boy, Isaac, pour the scalded meal.
In the centre of the house was a large, shallow box or trough, filled with clear water from a neighboring hill. This, Mr. Sullivan assured them, had not frozen during the winter.