Produced by Richard Tonsing, Tim Lindell, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
PEN-AND-INK ILLUSTRATIONS BY ISABEL WATKIN.
_LONDON_: _NEW YORK_: ERNEST NISTER. E. P. DUTTON & CO.
If you take a short-horned cow, a limping calf, a few sheep, a swarm of fowls, a pig with a litter of eight, and an everyday lazy kind of horse, you have John Dobbin’s well-stocked farm.
One morning John woke up at five, bustled round the hen coop, gave an extra feed to the pigs, milked the cow, fed the limping calf, and then went into the stables.
“Now, Sally, old girl,” he said, making some fuss as he fed his old mare, “just keep your eye on things a bit. I’m goin’ round to Farmer Peckett. He’s in bed, bad with rheumatism, an’ I shan’t be back afore dinner.” So saying he took the halter from Sally’s neck, and let her roam about at will.
“Now where’s the master gone off this morning,” thought she. “Farmer Peckett. I know no Farmer Peckett. It’s very queer his leaving us all alone. Something might go wrong while he’s away, and he can see to things a lot better than me. Just look! There’s that calf a limping among the lettuces. And that knock-kneed hen with her chirrupy brood scratching the carrots up as if she was seeking to-morrow. I do believe those bees mean to swarm, and no master here. I’ve watched him swarm ’em many a time, but I couldn’t manage it.”
[Illustration: _Hen with her Chirrupy Brood._]
“If you’re not off about your business, you old gimmer,” as a long-nosed sheep looked through the hedge—“I’ll, I’ll— Now what do you want?” called out Sally, turning from the patient ewe to a fat, wheezy donkey coming up the garden path. “What brings you here this morning, Neddy?”
“He-haw!” said Neddy, rolling his tongue round and round, and giving a three-cornered look out of his left eye. “Thought I’d just see how you were getting on, Sal! But you do look prime.”
“Beg your pardon, my lady. But if you have no objections I’ll just march myself off into the stable. I know Farmer Dobbin supplies you with good fodder.” And away went Neddy “he-hawing” for all he was worth, and frightening the chicks out of their poor little senses.