THE FIRST LAMB 



stall, and the poor little lamb shivered and refused 

 to pay attention to its mother. She pawed at it to 

 make it get up, but it couldn't get on its feet. So we 

 wrapped it in a horse-blanket and took it to the nest 

 beside the stove. For the next couple of days we 

 kept it warm and carried it to its mother for brief 

 visits at meal times. In that way we kept it from 

 being chilled to death, and now that the weather has 

 moderated it is living with its mother and being 

 much admired. But I am afraid that some of the 

 interest taken in it is rather sordid. When the ex- 

 citement was at its highest I found a boy studying 

 the market reports. He was looking up the price of 

 wool. 



Like all the other live stock on the farm, the lamb 

 has a name of its own. Its owner informed me that 

 it is to be called Mary Belle. Why he was so super- 

 fluous as to give it two names I did not inquire. The 

 name sounded good to me — the sound of it reminded 

 me of how: 



"Winking Mary buds begin 

 To open their golden eyes. 



With everything that pretty bin " 



91 



