It might be an anxious life, especially in lambing time,
but he was lucky, and rarely lost any lambs. It might be a dangerous
life sometimes in the winter fogs, rambling about on the hills with the
risk of falling into a chalk pit and breaking his neck, but he was
always too anxious about his sheep when overtaken by a fog to think of
his own danger. Then the wages were good, and the same all the year
round, with the chance of making some extra money in the shearing
season, and so much a head on each lamb that he reared; and to all
intents and purposes he was his own master, for the farmer to whom the
sheep belonged entrusted the management of the flock entirely to him.
But while the shepherd was fastening the gate the dog ran to the baby,
whose cry had reached his quick ears before it did his master's, and
having sniffed all round it, he set up some short, quick barks, and ran
back to the shepherd, calling his attention to the baby as plainly as
his inability to speak would allow him.
"What is it, Rover? what is it? Down, sir, it is only the baby crying;
the window must be open," said the shepherd, as he approached the house,
but Rover, as if to contradict his master, ran up to the bundle on the
doorstep, and barked louder than ever.
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