Wiggin, Kate Douglas Smith, 1856-1923 / 2008-07-09 00:00:00

'
'Which reminds me,' said Jack, giving Villikins a touch of the whip,
'that nothing is so calculated to disturb your faith in and love for
lambs as life on a sheep ranch. Innocent! Good gracious! I never
saw such--such--'
'Gasping, staggering, stuttering, stammering tom-fools,' interposed
Bell. 'That's what Carlyle called ONE Lamb,--dear Mr. "Roast Pig"
Charles; and a mean old thing he was, too, for doing it.'
'Well, it is just strong enough to apply to the actual lamb; not the
lamb of romance, but the lamb of reality. You can't get him
anywhere; he doesn't know enough. He won't drive, he can't follow;
he's too stupid. Why, I went out for a couple of 'em once, that were
lost in the canyon. I found them,--that was comparatively easy; but
when I tried to get them home, I couldn't. At last, after infinite
trouble, I managed to drive them up on to the trail, which was so
narrow there was but one thing for a rational creature to do, and
that was to go ahead. Then, if you'll believe me, those idiots kept
bleating and getting under the horse's fore-feet; finally, one of
them, the champion simpleton, tumbled over into the canyon, and I
tied the legs of the other one together, and carried him home on the
front of my saddle.'
'They are innocent, any way,' insisted Margery. 'I won't believe
they're not. I can't bear these people who interfere with all your
cherished ideas, and say that Columbus didn't discover America, and
Shakespeare wasn't Shakespeare, and William Tell didn't shoot the
apple.
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