Wood looked
behind the log at me.
I got up and put my head on his arm, and he went on: "By and by, the
Southdowns will be changed up here, and the Shropshires will go down to
the orchard. I like to keep one flock under my fruit trees. You know
there is an old proverb, 'The sheep has a golden hoof.' They save me the
trouble of ploughing. I haven't ploughed my orchard for ten years, and
don't expect to plough it for ten years more. Then your Aunt Hattie's
hens are so obliging that they keep me from the worry of finding ticks
at shearing time. All the year round, I let them run among the sheep,
and they nab every tick they see."
"How closely sheep bite," exclaimed Miss Laura, pointing to one that was
nibbling almost at his master's feet.
"Very close, and they eat a good many things that cows don't
relish--bitter weeds, and briars, and shrubs, and the young ferns that
come up in the spring."
"I wish I could get hold of one of those dear little lambs," said Miss
Laura. "See that sweet little blackie back in the alders. Could you not
coax him up?"
"He wouldn't come here," said her uncle, kindly; "but I'll try and get
him for you.
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