’Tis all before the plough the fat oxen go slow,
And the lads and the lasses to the sheep-shearing go.”
As the men sung these verses to a swinging tune, which if not very high musical art, at any rate had plenty of go in it, and suited the occasion, Fairy strolled across the meadow into the road by which she knew Jack would come, to meet him. She had not gone very far before she saw him coming, with his crook in one hand, and what looked like a dead lamb dangling in the other. As he got closer she saw this was the case, and there was a frown on Jack’s handsome face; though vexed and tired as he was, he smiled when he saw Fairy, and Jack’s smile was a singularly sweet one, which lighted up his whole face.
“Is it dead, Jack?” asked Fairy, sympathetically.
“Yes, and all for the sake of a little care. If Charlie had only had the sense to bring it home with him we might have saved it; he must have seen it was dying when he came away, but all he thinks of is getting home to the White Ram. I wish there weren’t such a thing, for if I had not been forced to leave my sheep to that boy for the sake of the shearing it would not have died, I am sure.”
“Poor little lamb. I am very sorry for you, Jack; but it is the first you have ever lost, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and if I had my way, I would give Charlie such a thrashing that he would take pretty good care it was the last. Lazy, careless young scamp!” said Jack.
“Never mind, Jack, he will always be lazy; it is his nature, just as it is yours to be always poring over books; but come home and have some supper; you look tired out; mother has saved some for you. What are you going to do with that lamb?”
“Bury it; but I will have some supper first,” said Jack, leaving the lamb just inside the gate of the field, which they had now reached.
Unfortunately, just at that moment Charlie came rushing out of the tent from which the chorus “of the pink and the lily and the daffydowndilly” was still rolling, shouting for Fairy at the top of his voice. He was flushed and excited, his blue eyes sparkled, and he looked just what he was—a healthy, happy, lazy, labouring boy of sixteen, fresh and clean, but in thick shoes and corduroys, and not the least pretension in manner or appearance to be anything but a shepherd’s lad, thoroughly enjoying his first shearing-feast. As soon as he saw Fairy he ran up to her, and seizing her by the waist, cried—