“Do they always know their own mothers?” asked Miss Laura.

“Usually.  Sometimes a ewe will not own her lamb.  In that case we tie them up in a separate stall till she recognizes it.  Do you see that sheep over there by the blueberry bushes—­the one with the very pointed ears?”

“Yes, uncle,” said Miss Laura.

“That lamb by her side is not her own.  Hers died and we took its fleece and wrapped it around a twin lamb that we took from another ewe, and gave to her.  She soon adopted it.  Now, come this way, and I’ll show you our movable feeding troughs.”

He got up from the log, and Miss Laura followed him to the fence.  “These big troughs are for the sheep,” sad Mr. Wood; “and those shallow ones in the enclosure are for the lambs.  See, there is just room enough for them to get under the fence.  You should see the small creatures rush to them whenever we appear with their oats, and wheat, or bran, or whatever we are going to give them.  If they are going to the butcher, they get corn meal and oil meal.  Whatever it is, they eat it up clean.  I don’t believe in cramming animals.  I feed them as much as is good for them, and not any more.  Now, you go sit down over there behind those bushes with Joe, and I’ll attend to business.”

Miss Laura found a shady place, and I curled myself up beside her.  We sat there a long time, but we did not get tired, for it was amusing to watch the sheep and lambs.  After a while, Mr. Wood came and sat down beside us.  He talked some more about sheep-raising; then he said,

“You may stay here longer if you like, but I must get down to the house.  The work must be done, if the weather is hot.”

“What are you going to do now?” asked Miss Laura, jumping up.

“Oh! more sheep business.  I’ve set out some young trees in the orchard, and unless I get chicken wire around them, my sheep will be barking them for me.”

“I’ve seen them,” said Miss Laura, “standing up on their hind legs and nibbling at the trees, taking off every shoot they can reach.”

“They don’t hurt the old trees,” said Mr. Wood; “but the young ones have to be protected.  It pays me to take care of my fruit trees, for I get a splendid crop from them, thanks to the sheep.”

“Good-bye, little lambs and dear old sheep,” said Miss Laura, as her uncle opened the gate for her to leave the pasture.  “I’ll come and see you again some time.  Now, you had better go down to the brook in the dingle and have a drink.  You look hot in your warm coats.”

“You’ve mastered one detail of sheep-keeping,” said Mr. Wood, as he slowly walked along beside his niece.  “To raise healthy sheep one must have pure water where they can get to it whenever they like.  Give them good water, good food, and a variety of it, good quarters—­cool in summer, comfortable in winter, and keep them quiet, and you’ll make them happy and make money on them.”

“I think I’d like sheep-raising,” said Miss Laura; “won’t you have me for your flock mistress, uncle?”