The Sheep and Lamb

by Thomas Miller

HERE you see the square church-tower, in the picture of the "Sheep and Lamb," stands the pretty village of Greenham, hidden behind the trees. The sheep and lambs that appear so little, because they are such a way off, are grazing on Greenham Common. The two that are so near you, and the pet lamb, round the neck of which the little boy has placed his arm, are in a small paddock, often called a croft, close, or field, that is separated from the Common by a bank, on the top of which the little child sits who is feeding the sheep. The girl holding the child, and the boy looking over his shoulder, live at Greenham, and have come across the Common to ask how Johnny's father is, and to look at his pet lamb. You will notice that Johnny looks very grave and sad; and well he may, for his father has met with an accident, and has not been able to do any work for several weeks, and is so poor that he will be forced to sell his two sheep and Johnny's pet lamb to pay the rent of his cottage. You cannot see the cottage in the picture, nor anything but a bit of the little field that lies at the back of it, in which the boy sits fondling his lamb. That girl is servant in a great farm-house, though she does very little besides looking after the children and feeding the poultry, for they keep great strong servant girls where she lives, to milk, and brew, and cook, and wash, and clean, and make butter and cheese in the dairy. She is a girl with a very feeling heart, and the two boys she has brought across the Common are very fond of her, and many a merry romp do they have together.

"So, father is not able to get about yet," she says to Johnny, "and he is going to sell your pet lamb to pay the rent? I am so sorry, Johnny, and wish I were a rich lady; then your lamb should not be sold. But I am only a poor girl, and have but a shilling a week and my victuals." The tears stood in Johnny's eyes, and he folded the lamb tighter in his arms, and said, "It's a deal fonder of me than our Gip, for he runs away from me, and barks at everything he sees. It follows me everywhere, and licks my face and hands, and if I pretend to run away and hide myself, it stands and looks about, and bleats for me, just as it used to do when it was quite a little thing, and wanted its mammy. Father says I mustn't cry; he hopes he shall get well soon, and next spring I shall have another pet lamb, and he won't sell that until it's a great fat sheep. But I can't help it; and I shall never have another little lamb I shall be so fond of as this, shall I?" And he drew the lamb closer to him, and looked very tenderly at it when he said "Shall I?" and the lamb went "ba-a-a," as if it said, as well as it could, "No, never;" then it lay down, with its pretty head on his arm.

"I'll tell you what I'll do, Johnny," said the little boy who stood behind his brother close to the tree, "I'll give you one of my lambs, for father has given me two to do what I like with; then your father can sell it, for it's bigger than yours, and you can still keep your own pet lamb. Come with me, Polly, and help to drive it here, and make it jump over the bank; then you won't cry, will you, Johnny?"

"No," said Johnny, crying harder than ever, for the kindness of the rich farmer's little son touched Johnny's tender heart as much as the sorrow he felt for the loss of his lamb, which he came to bid farewell to, as the butcher was coming with his cart in the cool of the evening to take it away, along with its mother and another fat sheep.

Polly, who was a strong girl of her age, at once snatched up the little boy, who was sitting on the bank feeding the sheep, and ran off with him in her arms to help Charley to drive his lamb off the Common—where it was feeding—into the little close, to be in readiness for the butcher when he came with his cart. They had some trouble with it, for it had not been petted like Johnny's; and Charley had many pets that he cared more for than he did for his lambs.

When it was driven off the Common, and made to jump over the bank into the paddock where Johnny still sat fondling his pet lamb—and not until then—that artful little Polly said, "Ought not you to have asked your father first, Master Charley, before you gave Johnny one of your lambs?"

"What should I ask father for, when he gave them to me to do what I liked with—sell, or give away, or anything?" asked Charley; and there was a proud expression in his handsome face, which brought the color to Polly's cheeks, and made her feel that she had no right to interfere, though she had "aided and abetted," inasmuch as she had helped to drive the lamb into the little close.

"I shall look out to-night for butcher Page's white horse," said Charley, "and when he passes our door, cut across the corner of the Common, and be here before him, Johnny, and help to drive the sheep and lamb out, and tie yours up to the apple-tree until he's gone. Don't say anything to your father and mother until butcher Page has gone."

Johnny promised he wouldn't, so went in-doors, his lamb following him, while the one Charley had given him made himself quite at home, and began nibbling away at a little patch of white clover which grew in one corner of the field.