“There are sheep in this field; you’d better run home.  They’ll scare you to death.”

“Ain’t ’feard,” was the valiant response.

Pocahontas wrinkled up her brows; it was almost too far to send him back alone, and there was no one passing along the road who could escort him to the home gate—­even if he would go, which was unlikely.  It would not do to start him home with the certainty that he would return, the instant her eye was off him, and stand by the fence, peeping through the cracks until she should get back to him.  Since he had followed her so far, it would be better to let him go all the way.

“Come, then,” she said, doubtfully, “I suppose I must take you, although you had no business to follow me.  If the sheep come after us, Sawney, remember that you’re not afraid.  You must not cry, or hold on to my dress with your dirty little hands.  Do you hear?”

“Ya-m,” acquiesced Sawney, with suspicious readiness, resuming his line of march behind her.

They pursued their way uneventfully until they had reached the middle of the field when the catastrophe, which Pocahontas had anticipated, occurred.  A flock of sheep peacefully grazing at a little distance, suddenly raised their heads, and advanced with joyful bleating, evidently regarding the pair as ministering spirits come to gratify their saline yearning.  Sawney—­perjured Sawney! all unmindful of his promise, no sooner beheld their advance, than he halted instantly, the muscles of his face working ominously.

“Come on, Sawney,” urged the young lady, encouragingly, “the sheep won’t hurt you:  they think we have salt for them; come on.”

But Sawney had no confidence in the explanation, and plainly discredited the statement of the animals’ lack of hostile intention.  He refused to stir:  nay, more, he dropped himself solidly to the earth with an ear-splitting howl, and grabbed tight hold of Pocahontas’s dress with both grimy paws; the sheep, meanwhile, came hurrying up at a sharp trot, pushing against each other in their haste, and bleating in glad anticipation of a treat.  Some of the boldest ventured near enough to sniff the girl’s dress, gazing up at her expectantly, with their soft, pretty eyes; a proceeding which evoked redoubled yells from Sawney.  They were perfectly harmless; even the rams were peaceful, which made the child’s conduct the more provoking.  In vain Pocahontas coaxed, threatened and commanded, in vain she assured him solemnly that the sheep would not hurt him, and acrimoniously that if he did not hush instantly and get up, she would leave him alone for the sheep to eat up.  Sawney would not stir.  The more she talked the louder he howled and the more obstinately he clung to her dress.  Then she took off her hat and waved it at the animals who sprang aside, startled at first, but returned in closer ranks with more insistent bleating.  Losing patience at last, Pocahontas stooped and caught the boy by his shoulders and shook him soundly.  She was about to proceed to more violent measures when a voice at her elbow said quietly: