About this time, Minnie went a short journey with her parents, and was greatly delighted when, one afternoon, they drove through a long, winding lane to a farmhouse, where her friend, Mr. Sullivan, was residing.

“Will you please let me see the lambs?” she asked the kind old lady, Mr. Sullivan’s mother, who kept house for him at this time.

“My little daughter has been scarcely able to contain her joy,” explained Mr. Lee, “since I told her, a few miles back, that we were going to visit your son.”

The good woman smiled kindly upon the child, and then went to the back door, where she took down a long horn, and blew upon it with all her might.

“Joseph will hear that,” she said, laughing, as she saw Minnie’s large eyes fixed so eagerly on her face, “and he will come up presently from the field.  When he has taken care of your father’s horses, you can go back with him if you please.”

“And may I take the little lambs in my arms?  I love lambs dearly.”

“They are rather shy of strangers, dear, but you can try.  If the ewes are willing, I am.”

Minnie then ran to the door, and soon announced, in a glad voice, that Mr. Sullivan was in sight.

He gave them a cheering welcome, and, after kissing Minnie, told her she might run all over the farm, just where she pleased.

“There is a calf in the barn,” he said, laughing, “and plenty of little pigs in the sty.”

“But I like lambs better than pigs, sir.”

“Well, there are some over a hundred of them, and you shall be introduced to their acquaintance as soon as I have given the horses some oats.”

Mrs. Lee was readily induced to join the party, although somewhat tired with her long drive.  The sheep, of which there were one hundred and fifty, were eating grass on the side of a hill, but, at the shepherd’s call, came running to meet him, bleating for their lambs to follow.  He threw out some salt, with which his huge pockets were filled; and while Minnie gazed with sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks upon the unusual scene, asked Mr. Lee what he thought of their appearance.

“I never saw a finer flock,” was the eager reply.  “They do credit to their keeping.”

A scream of delight from Minnie caused her father to turn quickly, in time to see a beautiful white lamb crowding its little nose through the fence, into the child’s hand.

“Here, Minnie,” said the shepherd, giving her an ear of corn; “hold this up, and call, ‘Luke,’ and you’ll soon have the mother to the lamb eating from the cob.”  He laughed merrily, as he added, “My boy has given them all Bible names; so we have Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.  He hesitated a little about Acts, but finally thought he’d better go straight through.  So here comes Acts, with her twin lambs, as fine a pair as there is in the flock.”

Mr. and Mrs. Lee laughed heartily, and presently Minnie asked, “What is the name of that great one, with horns?”

“O!  That’s Jeroboam.  He’s a cruel fellow, I’m sorry to say.  I wouldn’t advise you to have much to do with such a fellow as he is.”

“He looks like a picture in our Bible of a ram going to sacrifice,” said the child, gravely.  “I wish he were good, though.”

“Here comes a lamb now,” said Mr. Sullivan, “that I took the liberty to name for you.  To my fancy, she’s the prettiest one of the flock.  Minnie, Minnie, come and get your corn.”

“Can lambs eat corn, sir?”

“No; but their mothers can, and they get the good of it.”

Minnie’s mother came and ate the corn greedily from his hand, while the lamb danced about, first on one side and then on the other, much to the amusement of the child.

“Do they stay out in the field all night, sir?”

“O, no! we always shelter them.  At this season, we allow them to feed till late; the sun being so hot in the middle of the day, they all crowd under the shade of the hill.”

“But what do they do when it rains?”

“A warm shower doesn’t hurt the lambs; but we had some cold north-east storms earlier in the season, when we were obliged to drive them all in, as we couldn’t separate the lambs from their mothers.  One day, we tried to keep the ewes out to feed, but they bleated so much for their little ones ’twas no use; they wouldn’t eat.”

“I’m glad of that,” cried Minnie, eagerly.  “I’m glad your sheep love their children.  In Ireland, sometimes they won’t own them.”

“We had a great deal of trouble with the mérinos,” Mr. Sullivan went on, directing his remark to Mr. Lee.  “Not one in ten cared any thing about her lamb.  If she had milk enough, I could tie her; but it often made my heart ache to hear the poor wee things crying for a mother’s care.  I was almost glad when they died off, as they generally did.  I find it’s the universal opinion now that mérinos make poor nurses.”

The shepherd turned smilingly to Minnie:  “Have you any more questions to ask, Miss?”

“O, a great many!  But as we are going to stay all night, I shall have time.”

“Then, my dear, I will go in,” said her mother, laughing.  “I think you have catechised Mr. Sullivan quite enough for the present.”

The next hour was spent by the child in wandering all over the farm.  In company with her father and the good-humored shepherd, she examined the neat continuous racks all around the sheep-house, which, in winter, were filled with hay or husks for their food.  Long troughs were underneath, into which, as night approached, she was much amused to see the boy, Isaac, pour the scalded meal.

In the centre of the house was a large, shallow box or trough, filled with clear water from a neighboring hill.  This, Mr. Sullivan assured them, had not frozen during the winter.

Minnie stood for a long time watching the pearly drops as they trickled slowly through the pipe, wondering why the water never rose any higher in the trough.  At length her father showed her a little pipe which carried off the waste water into the ground.

They were sitting at the supper table, and Minnie was giving a glowing account of her discoveries, when they were startled by a loud shouting:  “Stop, Israel!  Go along, Moses!  Ssh! hi! there, Obadiah!  Here, Jonah, Amos, Nebuchadnezzar, Moses! what are you about?”

“What is the stupid fellow bringing up the sheep at this time for?” queried Mr. Sullivan, glancing at the clock; and then, seeing the look of merriment on the faces of his visitors, he burst into a hearty laugh.

“I believe you’ll have to excuse me,” he said, rising hastily.  “Isaac will never be able to get them into the fold alone.”

“I want to go, too,” whispered Minnie.

She was rather frightened at first at the loud bleating of the ewes, and the responsive cries of the lambs; but keeping close to the shepherd, had the satisfaction of feeling that she was of great assistance in driving them into the enclosure.

The moment they began to enter the sheep-house, the boy, Isaac, commenced a loud, shrill whistle, which the sheep seemed to understand, and which her friend informed her directed them to the troughs for their supper.

“I didn’t mean to shelter them for an hour yet,” exclaimed the lad, when his master blamed him for driving them to the fold so early; “but Jeroboam butted down a rail in the fence, and before I knew it, the crazy creatures were all out in the garden.”

“We must kill that fellow if he does much more mischief,” Mr. Sullivan said; and taking Minnie’s hand, they returned to the house.

“It speaks well for Isaac’s knowledge of Scripture,” remarked Mr. Lee, archly, “that he has chosen the names so appropriately.”

“O!  He goes to mother for that,” was the ready answer; “but it does surprise me to see how he recognizes every one.  I believe he is as well acquainted with the name and character of every sheep and lamb as a pastor is with his congregation.  I often hear him talking to one for being selfish, or praising another for her meekness.  I am well enough acquainted with Jeroboam to know that he is as obstinate and self-willed as his illustrious namesake.”

“Isaac says little Abner is a thief,” exclaimed Minnie, laughing.

“So he is, and steals his supper from the ewes whenever he can get it, at the expense of many a poor lamb.”

“I saw Minnie again, mother, and I knew her in a minute.”

“You’d make a capital shepherdess,” added Mr. Sullivan; “you’d govern them all by love.”

“That is the way you do,” remarked his mother.

“Well, there is no other way.  Sometimes they are rather provoking; but I always feel ashamed of myself when I lose my temper with a brute.  There is nothing like kindness to conquer even the most obstinate animal.  Last winter, I had a man to help me.  He was giving one of the ewes a dose of medicine, and she struggled so hard to get away that she threw over the cup three successive times.  I found he could do nothing with her, and so I myself undertook the job.  The poor creature was by that time so frightened, that when I forced the spoon between her teeth, she bit my finger to the bone.  I said nothing of the pain until I had accomplished my object-”

“And then you came near fainting,” interrupted his mother.  “The finger was a long time in healing.”

“The man was terribly angry,” added the shepherd, “and showed so much spite to the innocent cause of his rage, that I told him he was unfit for the care of animals; that he degraded himself to a brute when he revenged on them his own awkwardness.  I dismissed him, and took Isaac, who is worth a dozen such fellows.”

The next morning, Minnie arose in season to help Isaac drive the sheep from the fold to the pasture; and then, having received a promise from Mrs. Sullivan to save some of the lamb’s wool, and knit Minnie a pair of stockings, she took leave of the farm, exclaiming, as she rode off, “O, I do love sheep, and I wish we lived on a farm!”