SHEEP. 77 



It was a pleasant occupation, that of David, the 

 "following the ewes great with young;" for which 

 he sighed, I doubt not, sadly in his later days. I 

 know nothing on the farm so delightful as adminis- 

 tering to the wants of these dear creatures ; they 

 are at once so helpless and so confiding ; they soon 

 come to know their feeder so well, and you recognise 

 every face, too, after a little practice. Those stories 

 of the Spanish shepherds singling out their sheep by 

 name, no longer astonish me. Then, when their 

 allowance of corn and cake in the troughs is 

 done, they will press around you so entreatingly, 

 searching your basket, and even the pockets of your 

 shooting-jacket with their noses, in hope of more. 



" Oh ! they won't go under shelter, I never saw 

 them in my life," was the gratuitous remark of one 

 of those loitering busy-bodies whom one gets about 

 one of necessity now and then — on thrashing-days, 

 for instance, to help — on the first occasion that I set 

 about making some provision for my pets, against 

 the wet months. On that occasion, as the straw was 

 cleared from the thrashing-machine, I had built a 

 long stack as a wall to the north, and another at 

 right angles against the east, with a lower one along 

 the southern and western sides, where the entrance 

 also was, that the genial influence of the sun might 

 permeate their lodging. The straw was then pulled, 

 a foot or more into the stack, so as to form a recess 

 all around. Small pens were then divided off along 

 the stacks with hurdles, and covered with straw. 

 The plan answered famously, to the unwilling as- 

 tonishment of my bigoted hinds. The flock would 



