Easy Reading for an Old Bachelor, the Story of the Ravening Sheep
(1878)

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A weak minded sheep and her lamb once lived on a bit of barren land; there were several small spots where clover grew, and a little shelter of old brush. They were not well cared for, but they made the best of what they had, and were reasonably happy. One day a she-wolf brought over to their place, from her own green fields, several sheep from her flock; they devoured all the clover that was the only subsistence⟨sustenance⟩ of the sheep and lamb, and carelessly threw over their shelter of boughs.

It sounds odd that a she-wolf should have charge of a flock; but this was a wily she- wolf; there were many wolves in the forest, and game was scarce and shy, so she got a place with a shepherd as a sheepdog. The shepherd was blind, and old, and foolish, and never knew the imposture. The neighbours, who were reluctant to meddle in other people’s affairs, did not like, or did not choose to tell him; so the she-wolf and her cubs waxed fast and strong, while her kinsmen of the forest, gaunt and hungry roamed

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about, seeking their prey.

It was not that she particularly wished to harm the sheep and lamb that the she-wolf robbed them, but that her natural instincts inclining her to a guerrilla life occasionally overcame the teachings of civilization.

It was hard upon the sheep and the lamb. A cold rain fell, and winter was not far off. Before the clover had started to grow again, the shivering lamb was dead. The sheep tried to warm it with her own body, but her wool was wet, and she, too, was starved with the cold; she could only watch her lamb’s innocent eyes grey, and its little legs stiffen, with a breaking heart. She could do nothing; she could not replace the shelter, nor could she make the grass grow again, though she would gladly have watered the grass with her blood, and torn the fleece from her back to keep the cold from the lamb.

When the lamb was dead it was thrown into a hole. The sheep, in her grief, hoped and thought she might die too; but she was older and stronger and more used to hardship than the lamb, so, sad and lonely, she held on and endured the cold and the hunger. Most of the time she either stood gazing

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at the hole where they had thrown her lamb, or wandered about the bare pasture where it had frisked and played in happier days. Once a cub of the she-wolf came that way; it was so plump, and sleek, and well cared for, that when the bereaved sheep looked upon it she felt her weak heart giving way because of the injustice of things, and in a mad rage chased the wolf-cub howling away to its mother.

The next day the blind shepherd came in a great rage to the sheep. The wolf-cub had come panting home with a fearful tale; the sheep, she said, had come at her with a mouth a yard wide, full of blood and foam; with eyes the size of dinner plates, from which shot blue and green flames, and with an awful, deafening roar like a wild lion.

The sheep could not remember these details, but full of trouble went off alone to think it over; and wondered if all this were really true, and she had actually become a mad ravening sheep.

Soon she met the Haymaker who was fond of walking in paths and places where the shadows were heavy. He was called the Haymaker because he was supposed to make hay while the sun shone. All people went to him for advice, he was

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accounted so very wise; he was thought to be wise because he had many books, and he looked solemn, and he often said “policy is better than honesty,” “don’t whistle too much for your pay,” and other things that showed a profound intellect, and a habit of deep thought. When he demanded the reason of the sheep’s depression of mind, she, being in awe of so great a man, told her story.

“I must tell you what to do,” said he.“Oh no!” cried the sheep “you are so very respectable that it would never do that you should mix yourself up in the affairs of a silly sheep, and a beast of prey.”

The Haymaker insisted that she listen to him, and be guided by him.

‘“But I know myself what is best for me,” cried the sheep. “Let me go away off to some quiet place where I can be quite alone. There I may be able to recover my former tranquility of mind. As it is, I fear I am in too dangerous a state to be allowed to roam about freely. It is a dreadful thing to find out that one is a ravening sheep. How do I know, or how do you know, to what wild deed my fevered mind may prompt me. Suppose I should suddenly spring upon the wild bull, drag him to

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the ground, and tear his vitals from his quivering body."’

“That would, indeed, be horrible,” said the Haymaker; “but worse yet than that may happen.”“Worse than that!” Cried the sheep in an awe-stricken voice.“Yes; there is a lower depth still,” and he spoke in a voice as hollow and ghastly that a thrill went through the veins of the sheep, and chilled her very heart.“Suppose the pigs and the grasshoppers should find it out?”

With a cry of horror the sheep fell swooning upon the ground. She had never thought of that. In her ignorance and stupidity she had thought nothing could be worse than to know one’s self to be a ravening sheep; but oh heavens! That the pigs and the grasshoppers should know!

Crushed and humiliated she was carried off to a small paddock by the sea; here she nibbled grass on the hillside, and trotted by the beach, and might have become reasonable, cheerful in her latter days, but for the awful dread that always lay like a stone in her heart, “Suppose the pigs and the grasshoppers should know.”

The Haymaker came in time to dislike all thought or mention of the sheep; for he, too, was terrified lest the pigs and grasshoppers should know, and it should be whispered about that a man as staid and respectable as he had once known a ravening sheep.