The Lost Lamb

We saw Terry nearly every day after that, and the time passed much too quickly. He led us all over the countryside and showed us his secret nests and lairs and burrows. We learned how to recognize and track the footprints of little animals and the different cries of birds and what they meant. He dragged us through swamps and marshes and brambles in search of the earliest flowers, and showed us where to pick orchids. It was as though he had opened up to us a whole new world of wonder, and we both loved and admired him because of everything he knew about life in the woods. Before, I had always disliked Philip's friends because I thought they took him away from me. But Terry seemed to think we were both equally his friends, and never looked down on me for being a girl and younger than Philip and him.

So it was a disappointment to us all when Philip twisted his ankle while swinging from a tree and, after hobbling home, had to lie on a sofa for three days.

I stayed at home at first to help amuse Philip. I believe my efforts were quite successful, but they nearly drove Aunt Margaret mad. I started by catching a duck and bringing him indoors, dressed up in a doll's hat, to visit Philip, and then letting him loose on the dining room carpet.

After that, we decided to play soldiers and settled ourselves one at each end of the dining room with an army of model soldiers and a dozen marbles each. We bombed each other quite happily for a time, then we suddenly thought that the four kittens in the woodshed would make excellent army horses. I trotted off, returning with an armful of soft, purring, black-and-tabby fur, which I dropped on the carpet.

I chose a tabby and a black-and-white, and Philip had two black ones for his army. We had a marvellous game, and the kittens loved it. They chased after the marbles in all directions, scattering soldiers right and left. Philip and I shrieked with laughter and scuttled around on our knees, collecting our ammunition and recapturing the “horses.” Faster and faster ran the kittens, fiercer and fiercer grew the battle, when suddenly there was a crash and a splash. The tabby kitten had jumped onto a dangling tablecloth and pulled it, with a vase of flowers on top, all over himself. Philip and I laughed until the tears rolled down our faces. Of course, at that moment the door opened and Aunt Margaret came in.

She was not amused. Four very excited little kittens were banished to the coal shed, and one very cross little girl was turned out of the house. Philip was given a book and put back on the sofa.

I decided to go to the woods and see if I could find Terry anywhere, so I squeezed through the gap in the hedge and strolled down the road.

I didn't go far into the wood, for the sun was pleasant on the outskirts and I wanted to pick flowers. I wandered around, dreaming of all sorts of things, until I had almost forgotten where I was, and it gave me quite a surprise to hear a man's voice quite close to me. I looked up quickly, but he was not calling me. He was standing with his back to me, peering into the bushes. He had not seen me at all. But I recognized him at once. It was Mr. Tandy, the Cradley shepherd who had picked up the orphan lamb and carried it under his coat.

Being rather a nosy child, I wanted to know what he was doing, so I went and stood where he could see me. As soon as he saw me, he smiled broadly.

“Why,” he exclaimed, “you're the little girl who played with the lamb the other day. And here you are, turning up again just at the right moment. One of the little rascals has strayed, and I think he's got caught somewhere here in these bushes, but I just can't see where. Maybe you'll stop and help me find him.”

I was delighted. Here was something nice to do, and a nice person to do it with, so I set to work happily. I liked this old man with his white hair and rosy face, and I felt he liked me. We were soon talking away as though we had known each other all our lives.

“Why did he stray?” I asked as we parted the bushes and searched the ditches.

“Well,” answered the old man with a smile, “I reckon he's just like the rest of us. He likes his own way, and his own way has led him into trouble, poor little chap!”

“Well,” I remarked, “I expect he's sorry for it now—all tied up in the bushes and wishing he'd stayed in his own field.”

“Yes,” agreed the old man thoughtfully. “It takes a lot of thorns and briers to teach those lambs that their own way isn't the best one. He'll be crying his heart out for me now, maybe, if only I could find the place.”

“Won't he be glad to see us,” I said. “Oh, I'm longing to find him! I expect he'll be very tired and hungry. Have you anything for him to eat?”

He put his hand into his pocket and drew out a bottle.

“You'll see,” he said. “The minute I pick him up in my arms he'll have his nose in my pocket. He knows I wouldn't forget him, the little rascal!”

He chuckled softly, and we moved farther into the wood.

“He's strayed a long way, hasn't he?” I remarked.

“True,” answered the old man, “but I'll find him. I've found every lamb I've ever lost and brought it home. I always hear them crying out somewhere or other, although at times it's a very long search.”

“What's the longest you've ever searched for?” I asked.

“Almost a whole night,” he replied, “but that was in a storm, and I could hardly hear her crying for the wind and the thunder. She was caught fast in a bramble bush, and I found her at dawn by lantern light almost dead with cold and hunger and crying.”

“And what did you do?” I asked again.

“Do?” repeated the old man. “Why, I set her free and quieted her, and wrapped her in my coat, and carried her home. She was like a mad thing when we found her, but once she felt my arms around her she lay as quiet as a baby. She knew there was nothing to be afraid of then!”

I was about to ask another question, but he suddenly held up his hand and stood perfectly still, listening.

I had heard nothing, but his shepherd's ear had caught the sound at once—the faint cry of a tired lamb, calling for help.

“That'll be him,” he said simply, “in those bushes.” And he made straight for the sound.

It was a wonder to me, when we saw him, how the little creature had ever got in. The hedge was so tangled and the briers so thick. It was a still greater wonder to me that the shepherd ever got him out. But we started off, parting the branches, and as he worked he spoke to the lamb as a mother might speak to a frightened little child.

I don't suppose the lamb understood the words, but he knew the voice at once, and knew in a flash that he had been searched for and found and loved, and at the sound of it he stopped struggling and crying. He gave one joyful bleat and then lay still and waited.

It took a long time to reach him. I stood and watched as the old man patiently worked at the tangle, thorn by thorn, brier by brier. When he finally picked up the little rascal, his hands were dreadfully scratched and bleeding, but he didn't seem to notice. He just held that trembling lamb close and let it nuzzle its black nose trustfully into his pocket.

“Are you ready to come home?” he whispered, playfully lifting the little smudged face to his own.

“Baaa,” said the lamb, and put its nose back into the shepherd's pocket.

We walked home quietly together with the lamb lying in the crook of his arm. Mr. Tandy seemed to be thinking deeply and his face looked very happy. When we reached the field, the sun was setting and the sky behind the bluebell slopes was the color of pink shells. We laid the lamb among the others, and he gave a bleat of contentment and fell fast asleep.

“Well,” I said slowly, “I suppose I'd better be getting home now. Thank you for letting me help, and I hope I'll see you again soon.”

He sat me down beside him on the wooden bench that ran around the outside of the sheepfold. “Before you go, I'll read you a bit of a story about another sheep that strayed,” he said. As he spoke, he took a small, worn Bible out of his pocket and opened it to Luke, chapter fifteen, in the New Testament. Then he began to read in his slow, kind, country voice.

I suppose I had heard the story before, but it had never interested me. Tonight it was different, and I listened with all my heart.

“When he finds it, he is so happy that he puts it on his shoulders and carries it back home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says to them, ‘I am so happy I found my lost sheep. Let us celebrate!’ In the same way, I tell you, there will be joy in heaven over one sinner who repents.”

He closed his Bible and I looked up at him.

“Good night, Ruth,” he said.

“Good night,” I answered, “and thank you very much.”

I walked slowly home through the buttercups.