"
"And can't it be cured?"
"Oh, yes! with time and attention. There are different remedies. I
believe petroleum is the best."
By this time we had got to a wide gate that opened into the pasture. As
Mr. Wood let Miss Laura go through and then closed it behind her, he
said, "You are looking at that gate. You want to know why it is so long,
don't you?"
"Yes, uncle," she said; "but I can't bear to ask so many questions."
"Ask as many as you like," he said, good-naturedly. "I don't mind
answering them. Have you ever seen sheep pass through a gate or door?"
"Oh, yes, often."
"And how do they act?"
"Oh, so silly, uncle. They hang back, and one waits for another; and,
finally, they all try to go at once."
"Precisely; when one goes they all want to go, if it was to jump into a
bottomless pit. Many sheep are injured by overcrowding, so I have my
gates and doors very wide. Now, let us call them up." There wasn't one
in sight, but when Mr. Wood lifted up his voice and cried: "Ca nan, nan,
nan!" black faces began to peer out from among the bushes; and little
black legs, carrying white bodies, came hurrying up the stony paths from
the cooler parts of the pasture.
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