A charming little story about a very unlikely heroic animal. I wonder if this breed of sheep still exists?.Sheep have been the friends of man for so many ages that all trace of their wild ancestors is lost, and we can only guess at their origin. There has been a wonderful change in this creature's nature during the long ages since it first was tamed. The domestic sheep is one of the most timid and delicate of animals, while the wild sheep is second to no animal in courage and hardiness.
One of the peculiarities of the sheep is the manner in which it adapts itself to its surroundings, and no doubt it is this ability to suit itself to the circumstances of its dwelling-place that has given us so many varieties of domestic sheep. There is the large merino sheep, so famous for fine wool, and the small Welsh sheep, just as famous for its delicate flavor when cooked. There is the sheep of middle Asia, used for carrying burdens, and even for riding upon, and the sheep of southern and eastern Asia, with its enormous tail, that must be provided with a little cart to keep it from dragging in the dirt—a veritable Bo-peep sheep that carries its tail behind it. There is the Persian sheep, with its black head and white body, and the Shetland sheep, so good for the wool which ladies like for crochet work; and then there are a great many more sheep that are good for nothing particularly—not very good to eat, and very poor wool producers.
Last of all, because it is the very smallest, is the tiny Breton sheep. It is too small to be very profitable to raise; for, of course, it can not have much wool, and as for eating, why, a hungry man could almost eat a whole one at a meal. It is so small when full-grown that it can hide behind a good-sized bucket. It takes its name from the particular part of France where it is most raised.
But if not a profitable sheep, it is a dear little creature for a pet, for it is very gentle and loving, and, because it is so small, is not such a nuisance about the house as was the celebrated lamb which belonged to a little girl named Mary. It would need to be a very large little girl—a giant girl, indeed—who could take an ordinary sheep in her lap and cuddle it there; but any little girl could find room in her lap for a Breton sheep quite as easily as for one of those very ugly little dogs called by the ugly name of pug.
One of this little creature's peculiarities is its extreme sympathy with the feelings of its human friends, when it has been brought up as a pet in the house, and has learned to distinguish between happiness and unhappiness. If any person whom it likes a great deal is very much pleased about anything, and shows it by laughing, the little sheep will frisk about with every sign of joy; but if, on the contrary, the person sheds tears, the sympathetic friend will evince its sorrow in an equally unmistakable way. A kind word and a loving caress will also fill it with happiness, while a cross word or harsh gesture will cause it such evfdent distress that only a cruel person could be otherwise than gentle with such a pet.
This strange delicacy of feeling once led to a very happy result, and helped a little girl named Jessie out of a difficulty which was at the same time dangerous and ludicrous.
Away off in one corner of the large garden, Jessie had what she called her house. James, the gardener, had nailed some boards to the fence to make a roof, and there Jessie used to go on summer afternoons with her dolls and her favorite pet, the little Midget sheep. One afternoon, Jessie was tired of staying in her house, and concluded to try the roof. By putting her chair on the starch-box that served for Ethel Araminta's bed, Jessie contrived to mount upon the roof.
Once there, she lay down upon the roof, and, after a deal of reaching, caught the back of the chair and pulled it up. Then she placed it against the fence, stood upon it, and looked over. There was nothing specially interesting there to look at, and Jessie concluded to do something else. The first thing that suggested itself was to sit upon the fence. It was not easy to do, but she finally accomplished it, and when she had recovered her breath, she found her perch very pleasant, until by and by she heard a dog bark. Looking over the fence, she exclaimed:
"Oh! it 's that dreadful big bull-dog that belongs to Mr. Wainright. And here he comes. I guess I 'll get down. No, I won 't, either. He can't catch me; it 's too high for him. Boo! I 'm not afraid of you."
The bull-dog by this time was right under Jessie, barking furiously, for he looked upon her as an intruder. She was too high for him to reach her, but he was a faithful dog, and determined to do the best he could. He jumped hard. He could not reach her, but her frock hung over the fence, and into that he fastened his teeth just as Jessie, in a fright, slipped from her seat to reach the roof.
She did not reach it, however, for, unfortunately, her frock was new and strong, and would not tear; so she hung on one side of the fence, and the dog on the other. She screamed and wept, but it was too far from the house for her voice to be heard, and she might have hung there until her frock tore (for the dog would not loose his hold), if little Midget had not come to the rescue.
She did not know what was the matter, probably; but she did know that Jessie was in great trouble, and the dear little creature was driven almost frantic with sympathy. She trembled all over, then ran madly about, then stopped and shook again. Finally, she ran like a crazy sheep toward the house, and, in fact, acted so strangely that Ann saw her from the kitchen window, and, thinking her mad, called Jessie's mother. She knew in a moment that something was wrong with her little girl, and, fortunately, a particularly loud scream from Jessie just then caught her ear. She did not stop to explain, but ran as quickly as she could toward where Jessie was.
Ann, like a faithful servant, never stopped to ask why, but followed her mistress, calling at the same time for James, who was just entering the gate. James obeyed the summons, and, being the swiftest, reached the spot first. There hung Jessie, still sobbing and screaming. This so excited James that he forgot how frail the little house was, and sprang upon it at one effort. Crash it went under him, and he fell with it all in a heap to the ground.
What a hubbub there was then! But James was soon up again, and had brought a ladder. Ann was so eager to help that she started to run up just as James did, and the consequence was that a collision took place, and Ann sat down on the grass. James flew up, looked over, comprehended the situation, and, knowing he could not make the dog let go, whipped out his knife and cut Jessie's frock.
It took some time for the story to be told, and for everybody to recover composure; but when it was all understood, it was declared that Midget was a heroine, and that nothing was too good for her. They all believed that Midget had purposely run to the house to let them know there that Jessie was in trouble; but very likely Midget was so excited by Jessie's cries that she did not know what she was doing; for long after everybody else was composed, and even able to laugh at the picture of Jessie on one side of the fence and the dog on the other, Midget continued to tremble as if with ague.
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