It was raw and chilly, with a feel
of snow in the air. The sheep felt it; they were sluggish and unwilling
to leave the barn. Finally, however, we got them down the lane and out
on the hard-frozen highway; Halstead ran ahead, shaking the salt dish;
Addison and I, following after, hustled the laggards along.
The leader of our flock was a large brock-faced ewe called Old Peg. She
was known to be at least eleven years old, which is a venerable age for
a sheep. She raised twin lambs every spring and was, indeed, a kind of
flock mother, for many of the sheep were either her children or her
grandchildren. Wherever the flock went, she took the lead and set the
pace.
So long as we kept Old Peg following Halstead and the salt dish, the
rest of the sheep scampered after, and we got on well.
We had gone scarcely more than a mile when, owing to a too hasty
breakfast, or the morning chill, Halstead was taken with cramps. He was
never a very strong boy and had always been subject to such ailments. We
had to leave him at a wayside farmhouse--the Sylvester place--to be
dosed with hot ginger tea. At last, after losing half an hour there, we
went on without him; Addison now shook the salt dish ahead, and I,
brandishing a long stick, kept stragglers from lagging in the rear.
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