Johnny's father was a hard-working laboring man; but farm labor is so poorly paid for in most country places, that it is very difficult to save up more than a few shillings against sickness or accidents, which often happen unaware, as was the case with him; for the shaft-horse chanced to back suddenly, as he was going to fasten a gate, and the wagon wheel went over his foot and crushed it. He had not been able to work for several weeks; and though his master was kind to him in sending little things from the farm, he knew he must not expect him to pay his rent, and to do that he had to sell his two sheep and Johnny's pet lamb for a few pounds to butcher Page. He was a kind-hearted man; for as soon as the lamb entered the cottage it went up to him, and as he patted its pretty head, he sighed heavily, for he felt almost as much troubled at parting with it as did little Johnny.
You will seldom see a dumb animal go up to anybody, of its own accord, that is not kind to all God's creatures. They seem to know who loves them and who does not. Dogs, more than any other animals, seem gifted with the power of finding out those who are kind and those who are not. One strange boy shall pat a dog, and he will begin to wag his tail, while he growls if another boy only strokes him. I always like the boy best that the dog is pleased with. Johnny's lamb laid its head on his father's knee, and while he patted it he shut his eyes, as if it were painful for him to look at the pretty creature necessity compelled him to part with. It then went bleating up to Johnny's mother to be noticed, and as she stooped down to kiss it she had to "button up" her eyes very tight indeed to keep in the tears. Johnny kept his secret faithfully, and said not a word about the lamb his friend Charley had given him.
Instead of running across the corner of the Common in the evening, Charley and Polly, with his little brother sitting in her lap, came riding up to the cottage in the cart with the butcher; for Mr. Page had to call at the great farm-house on his way through Greenham about some fat calves he wanted to purchase of Charley's father. Polly asked if the children might ride with him, for she was very anxious about Johnny's pet lamb; and, as she said to Charley, "I shan't feel that it's quite safe until I see Mr. Page drive back without it."
Johnny's father was too lame to assist in getting the sheep and lamb into the cart, so Polly and Charley drove them out of the small close behind the cottage, while Johnny minded the little boy, who sat with his tiny arms round the lamb's neck, kissing it, and saying "so pitty," for he could not talk plain enough to say "pretty."
"Surely this can't be the same lamb I bargained for a week ago," said the butcher, as he was about to lift it into the cart; "why, it's got four or five pounds more meat on his back. You must give Johnny this shilling for himself. It's a much fatter lamb than I took it to be," and he gave the shilling for Johnny to his mother, after looking around, and not seeing the boy. Having paid the mother for the sheep and lamb, he drove off, and the poor dumb animals stood quiet, and seemed as happy in the cart as children who are only going away for a drive. How different they would look when put into the shed adjoining the slaughter-house, where so many sheep and lambs had been driven in to be killed.
What a blessing it is that we do not know beforehand what is going to happen to us, for if we did, how wretched we should feel, counting the hours and days until the evil befell us, and living a life of misery all the time. Nor is it ourselves alone that would be made miserable, but our parents, and all who love us; so that, however painful death may be, it is one of God's greatest mercies not to let us know when death, which comes to all, will come. This is not hard to understand, if you will be very still, and forgetting everything else, think about it.
The two sheep and the little lamb, as they were driven along the pretty country road in the butcher's cart, could have no more thought that they were carried away to be killed, than you would that some terrible accident might happen to you, if taken out for a ride.
No sooner had the butcher driven off than Polly ran into the little meadow, clapping her hands, and exclaiming, "All right, Johnny! he's gone!" then she stooped down and kissed the pretty lamb, which began to lick her brown, sun-tanned cheek, as if to show how grateful it was; for the few kind words she had uttered were the means of saving it from the butcher's knife.
When the children returned home across the Common, and after they had finished their supper of home-made brown bread and rich new milk, Charley went and stood between his father's legs, for the rich farmer was smoking his pipe, and had a jug of ale of his own brewing before him. Charley was deep enough to know that when his father was enjoying his pipe and jug of ale, after the day's labor was done, he was always in a good humor, and while Polly stood fidgeting and watching him, biting the corner of her blue pinafore all the time, and "wishing it was over," Charley looked up with his bold truthful eyes, and said, "Please, father, I gave Johnny Giles one of my lambs to-day to sell to the butcher, so that he might keep his own, which he is so fond of; it's such a pet, and he was crying so, and Mr. Page would have taken it away to-night in his cart if I hadn't given him mine, for you know Johnny's father is lame, and poor, and can't do any work, and so had to sell his two sheep and—"
"Johnny's pet lamb too," said the farmer, interrupting him, but still stroking Charley's hair while speaking. "Well, Charley, it was your own lamb, to do what you liked with; but I should have liked Johnny's father better if he had sent word to let me know that he had sold your lamb instead of his own."