My First Summer 



The shepherd in Scotland seldom thinks 

 of being anything but a shepherd. He has 

 probably descended from a race of shep- 

 herds and inherited a love and aptitude for 

 the business almost as marked as that of his 

 collie. He has but a small flock to look 

 after, sees his family and neighbors, has 

 time for reading in fine weather, and often 

 carries books to the fields with which he 

 may converse with kings. The oriental 

 shepherd, we read, called his sheep by 

 name; they knew his voice and followed 

 him. The flocks must have been small and 

 easily managed, allowing piping on the 

 hills and ample leisure for reading and 

 thinking. But whatever the blessings of 

 sheep-culture in other times and countries, 

 the California shepherd, as far as I 've seen 

 or heard, is never quite sane for any con- 

 siderable time. Of all Nature's voices baa 

 is about all he hears. Even the howls and 

 ki-yis of coyotes might be blessings if well 

 heard, but he hears them only through a 

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