630 
THE KURA L, IME W-YOXKEK 
Little Farm Stories 
Small Human Documents 
Dorothy and the Sheep 
OROTHY liked to be “Papa's boy,” 
better than she did to be “Mamma’s 
girl” and papa really needed her more 
too. When Dorothy was three years old 
her papa met with an accident, and had 
to have his left arm taken off, and so her 
willing, nimble; little hands were a great 
help to him. She loved to be all over the 
farm with him and do things for him. 
“Aren’t you afraid papa will pound 
your little fingers?” I asked her one day 
as I watched her holding the nails in 
place for him to drive. 
“lie never has,” answered the child 
looking up into her father’s face with a 
smile, full of love and confidence. 
She was always ready to do anything 
to assist him in his work, but best of 
all she liked to help him take care of the 
sheep. They had about 150 sheep, and 
usually each Spring there were some of 
the little lambs which had to be brought 
up on a bottle. So four times a day she 
had to put on her overalls, warm the milk 
and fill the bottles to carry out to the 
Iambs. It was fun to see the little creat¬ 
ures run for their milk when they saw 
her coming, bounding along, wagging 
their tails, almost knocking her and each 
other over in their haste. She would hold 
a bottle in each hand and thus feed two 
at once, and then she would have a great 
time trying to keep the others back out of 
the way until their turn came. 
She was always sorry when the sheep 
and lambs were driven out to the back 
pasture for the Summer, but nearly every 
week, she and her papa would go out to 
carry salt to them, and some colts which 
were in the same pasture. What good 
times they had, wandering over the hill¬ 
sides, through the pines, up under the 
big oaks, calling “ca’dek. ca’dek, ca’- 
dek !” Papa carried the salt in a pail 
slung over his shoulder by a strap, and 
would pour down a few handfuls on the 
ground or flat rock, while the sheep 
would come bounding 1 and bleating after 
him. crowding around, so eager to get 
a lick of the salt. How they would 
crowd and push, and how the little 
Iambs would scamper off by themselves 
and hop and play! Dorothy liked to 
watch them and laugh at their frolics. 
She would laugh too, when some old 
one would shake its head and stamp its 
foot at her. After they had been all over 
the pasture and counted up all the sheep, 
they would go back by the way of the 
spring, where they usually found the 
colts waiting for their salt. Here they 
would get a drink of good cold water and 
rest a while to watch the colts. Some¬ 
times Dorothy would coax one to come 
up and eat the salt out of her hand— 
and then it would turn and gallop off 
kicking up its heels. The colts always 
followed them clean to the pasture bars 
and seemed sorry to have them leave. 
Our damp, cloudy morning in the early 
Fall Dorothy went with her father to 
the pasture to drive some of the sheep 
home. She wore her rubber boots that 
day because the ground was so wet. It 
took them quite a long time to find the 
sheep they wanted to get home, and by 
the time they had them out of the pas- 
tun 1 onto the main road, the clouds had 
cleared away, and it was very hot. The 
road was dry and dusty, and Dorothy’s 
feet ached so she took off her rubber 
boots and went barefooted the rest of 
the way. Her father drove the team 
and the sheep followed him. while she 
came along behind with old dog Schnei¬ 
der. She had a little switch in her hand 
to keep the sheep from straying out into 
the fields. They went very slowly, but 
by and by one old sheep was so hot and 
tired she laid down in the road and 
couldn’t go any further. Schneider ran 
back and forth and barked, and Dorothy 
called to her papa, so he came back and 
they tried to lift the poor sheep up into 
the back of the wagon and carry it home. 
But Dorothy was only a little girl and 
her papa had only one arm, and though 
they did their best they couldn’t lift 
the poor thing. What to do they didn’t 
know. There was no house in sight, and 
nobody to look after the rest of the flock, 
but they couldn’t go off and leave the 
helpless creature lying there alone in the 
road. Dorothy was discouraged, and 
about ready to cry, when who should 
come along but the R. F. D. mailman on 
his route. He was a big. strong man, 
and in a minute they had the tired old 
sheep up in the back of the express wagon, 
and were to ready to start for home. 
Then papa said—“Well little girl, you’d 
better ride the rest of the way. Old 
Schneider will look after the sheep now 
I guess.” Dorothy was glad to ride and 
she looked up at him and asked. 
“Papa,—what should we have done if 
God hadn't sent the mailman along just 
in time?” kathekine c. header. 
My “Neighbors." 
. I was homesick already. Set down 
in this lonesome little farmhouse, 
from a pleasant city flat, knowing no¬ 
body in all the valley. I felt as if I were 
cut off from everything worth while. 
Fred, my husband, had been employed 
as proof-reader on a prominent paper in 
Now York, and we were living happily, 
saving a little every month, which we 
both agreed should lie at interest till the 
children neded it to help them through 
high school and college. Then, sudden¬ 
ly, like a thunder-dap out of a clear sky, 
Fred came home one night nearly blind, 
suffering severely with headache and eye 
strain. The doctor made him keep his 
eyes bandaged till inflammation was gone, 
then forbade his going back into the office 
at all; said night work and too little 
sleep would destroy his sight completely, 
unless given up. 
Of course our expenses kept growing, 
and the little money in the bank was 
nearly gone by the time we decided what 
to do. My mother’s brother, Jared Har¬ 
dy, owned the little farm of 50 acres in 
the township of B-, where my moth¬ 
er’s family were all born, and raised. It 
was now vacant. Aunt having recentLv 
died, and Uncle was living in the West 
with his son. I wrote to ask him if we 
might go there until we could arrange 
something satisfactory and until Fred’s 
eyes could become strong again. He re¬ 
plied that we might do our best on the 
old homestead, and all he required of us 
would be to keep it in good shape. He 
thought that as Fred was young and 
raised on a farm, he could, in a few 
years regain his health and “make good” 
there. But I dreaded the change, and 
selfishly bemoaned my having to give up 
all our social pleasures, our friends and 
city advantages. Just now, left alone 
with the children, while Fred went back 
to the station for the last load of our 
goods, I was trying to bring the kitchen 
into some degree of order before his re 
turn. The station was two miles away, 
only one farmhouse in sight, and all the 
valley lay quiet in the late April sunshine. 
We were 200 miles from New York and 
home. Tears came to my eyes, the kitch¬ 
en stove was smoking and I did not know 
what to do with that. Baby was wor¬ 
rying for me, my head ached, and I was 
ready to cry, like the selfish baby I was. 
I put down the bundle of quilts I had 
picked up and lifted Elsie out of her 
cart. Little dear! I would sit down for 
a moment with her. I cuddled her to my 
breast. She was hungry, and so was I. 
though I could not think where the ham¬ 
per was in all that confused pile of bun¬ 
dles and boxes. The twins had been quiet 
so long I began to wonder what had be¬ 
come of them. Suddenly the gate clicked 
and I saw a middle-aged woman coming 
up the path. “Oh,” I thought, “this is 
country manners, coming to call before 
I can straighten one room.” I'm afraid 
I showed resentment in my face, for she 
smiled apologetically, as she reached the 
porch. 
“Please forgive this early call. Mrs. 
Allen. But I knew you had a baby over 
here, and I’ve brought you a cup of hot 
tea with some of my fresh rolls and 
cream. It will rest you to sip the tea. 
and as I'm your neighbor and knew and 
loved your mother, child, I should love 
to help you for an hour or so. What 
ails the stove? Oh,” she laughed, “the 
damper has jarred out of place, there! 
Now, dearie let me do your reaching up. 
for you are such a tiny mite, and tired 
enough now I know. Lucky the house 
was left so clean. Only dust will set¬ 
tle anywhere no matter hoie clean a 
house is left.” 
She deftly wrung a thick doth out of 
water, tied it over the broom, and wiped 
the pantry ceiling, shelves, walls and 
casings. A boiler of water was on the 
stove before I knew it. and sin 1 worked so 
“inatter-of-factly” chatting so pleasantly 
all the while, I was too interested to feel 
offended if I had wanted to. 
“Oh, the twins? Why, they are with 
my daughter Annie, eating bread and 
milk. I saw them in the garden, and 
called them over to see my little chickens. 
Then they are going to watch her roll out 
cookies. No, not at all. We love chil¬ 
dren and ours are all too big to pet.” 
Baby was asleep and I laid her down. 
Then my lovely neighbor unobtrusively 
offered to cut the pantry papers and help 
me place my dishes. After that, we to¬ 
gether arranged my bedroom, and by that 
time I saw Fred returning. 
“Now, dear friend,” I said. “I shall 
have to make tea, and get something 
ready for that hungry man of mine. And 
please stay, for I wish you to meet him. 
I cannot express my thanks, Mrs.-” 
“Lovejoy,” she supplemented, “Aunt 
Hone Lovejoy. But you will not break 
April 24. 1915. 
Annie's heart by refusing to go over home 
with me for tea. The chicken was ready 
to put in the oven when I came over, and 
I see the white rag hanging out. to tell 
us tea is ready. 
“Lovejoy,” I said. “I should think 
the name was made for you. You surely 
are a joy and I wish there were more 
like you.” 
“Well, there is surely enough of me.” 
she laughed, “for I weigh a hundred and 
seventy pounds. As for the ‘joy’ we are 
commanded in over eight hundred places 
in the blessed book, to be filled with joy. 
Why, this sweet old world is full of it. 
Look at that robin on the lilac bush, 
fairly bursting his little throat trying to 
express his joy to our Maker.” 
When Fred and the babies were all in 
bed that blessed night. I stole out on 
the porch to drink in the sweetness of 
Spring, and as I looked toward heaven I 
felt a peace steal over me. I never had 
known before. Our life that first year 
was a series of experiments which I’ll 
tell, now and then if The R. N.-Y. 
friends care to read it. But the joyful 
love of Aunt Hope Lovejoy has changed 
life for all of ns. faith white. 
“ A Pot of Gold! ” 
The recent experience of a Ohio woman 
ought to itrove a warning to others who 
are anxious to get rich quick. A band 
of gypsies camped on the outskirts of the 
town, and one of the gypsy women ap¬ 
proached the wife of a well-known resi¬ 
dent. with a gold brick proposition. The 
gypsy was able to make this intelligent 
woman believe that there was a pot of 
gold containing $10,000 and jewels buried 
on her premises. This gypsy agreed on 
payment of $100 to consult the stars and 
prepare a map showing just where this 
gold was located. Now this woman was 
intelligent and well-to-do. with property 
in her own name, yet she paid the $100 
to this gypsy, and later gave $112 more 
when told that the stars were not work¬ 
ing fpiite right, but would work for a lit¬ 
tle more money. When this gypsy ob¬ 
tained the $212, she quietly departed, 
leaving the pot of gold still uncharted. 
Then the woman told her husband what 
she had been doing. Tt was possible t<- 
get a part of tin 1 money back from the 
gypsy, although there was some loss. Tin 1 
wonder is. however, that an intelligent 
and well-to-do woman should ever enter 
such a scheme as this. We may well ask 
ourselves what is the motive which should 
induce such a woman, unknown to her 
husband and friends, to enter upon a 
speculation which has been exposed hun¬ 
dreds of times, and which the most ordi¬ 
nary common sense ought to show such a 
foolish move. Women, however, are not 
alone in falling victims to such schemers, 
for there are dozens of cases where men 
have done the same thing, and many of 
them, when they found they had been vic¬ 
timized. paid the money and said nothing 
about it. although it is not improbable 
that their wives and children could testify 
that they got most of this money back 
through saving in household expense. 
Happy And Unhappy Cats. —There 
are many women in the world who think 
highly of cats. One of them recentlv 
died in Philadelphia, and by will left her 
residence as a hospital for certain pet 
cats which she had owned for a consider¬ 
able time. The will provides that the 
house which she occupied shall be main¬ 
tained as a home for these cats as long 
as they live. We might say. “Happy 
cats.” They are far better off than thou¬ 
sands of children or elderly people who 
are thrown out upon a cruel world, yet 
kitty has her enemies as well as her 
friends. What is known as the Bur¬ 
roughs Nature Club of Brooklyn has 
started a war upon cats, and has asked 
the Legislature to pass a law compelling 
owners to tag and license cats at least 
in Brooklyn. These Nature Club people 
have the hardihood to say that cats are 
“unessential.” They say they are useless 
as ratters, carry diseases, especially 
those affecting children, are subject to 
rabies and are wholesale destroyers of 
bird life. The cat, evidently, will have 
to hustle for its nine lives even though 
houses are left to individual specimens. 
“Now Dorothy,” said the teacher to a 
small pupil, “can you tell me what a 
panther is?” “Yeth, ma’am,” lisped Dor- 
othey. “A panther ith a man that makths 
panths.”—Chicago News. 
Do You Call This a Sanitary Dairy? 
