fancy. At last we drove our tunnels in (for we worked indeed for the lives of us), and all converging towards the middle, held our tools and listened.

or declared that they abandon the matter, knees. But I said,

The other men heard nothing at all; heard nothing, being anxious now to because of the chill in their feet and "Go, if you choose, all of you. I will work it out by myself, you pie crusts": and upon that they gripped their shovels, being more or less of Englishmen; and the least drop of English blood is worth the best of any other, when it comes to lasting out.

But before we began again, I laid my head well into the chamber; and there I heard a faint "ma-a-ah," coming through some ells of snow, like a plaintive buried hope, or a last appeal. I shouted aloud to cheer him up, for I knew what sheep it was, to wit the most valiant of all the wethers, who had met me when I came home from London, and been so glad to see me. And then we all fell to again; and very soon we hauled him out. Watch took charge of him at once, with an air of the noblest patronage, lying on his frozen fleece, and licking all his face and feet, to restore his warmth to him. Then fighting Tom jumped up at once, and made a little butt at Watch, as if nothing had ever ailed him, and then set off to a shallow place, and looked for something to nibble at.

Farther in, and close under the bank, where they had huddled themselves for warmth, we found all the rest of the poor sheep packed as closely as if they were in a great pie. It was strange to observe how their vapor, and breath, and the moisture exuding from their wool had scooped, as it were, a coved room for them, lined with a ribbing of deep yellow snow. Also the churned snow beneath their feet was as yellow as gamboge. Two or three of the weaklier hoggets were dead, from want of air, and from pressure; but more

than threescore were as lively as ever; though cramped and stiff for a little while.

"However shall us get 'em home?" John Fry asked in great dismay, when we had cleared about a dozen of them; which we were forced to do very carefully, so as not to fetch the roof down. "No manner of maning to draive 'un, drough all they girt driftnesses."

"You see to this place, John," I replied, as we leaned on our shovels a moment, and the sheep came rubbing round us. "Let no more of them out for the present; they are better where they be. Watch, here boy, keep them!"

Watch came, with his little scut of a tail cocked as sharp as duty; and I set him at the narrow mouth of the great snow antre. All the sheep sidled away, and got closer, that the other sheep might be bitten first, as the foolish things imagine: whereas no good sheep dog

even so much as lips a sheep to turn it.

Then of the outer sheep (all now snowed and frizzled like a lawyer's wig) I took the two finest and heaviest, and with one beneath my right arm, and the other beneath my left, I went straight home to the upper sheppy, and set them inside, and fastened them. Sixty and six I took home in that way, two at a time

on each journey; and the work grew harder and harder each time, as the drifts of the snow were deepening. No other man should meddle with them: I was resolved to try my strength against the strength of the elements; and

try it I did, ay and proved it. A certain fierce delight burned in me, as the struggle grew harder; but rather would I die than yield; and at last I finished it. People talk of it to this day but none can tell what the labor was, who have not felt that snow and wind.

Of the sheep upon the mountain, and the sheep upon the western farm, and the cattle on the upper burrows, scarcely one in ten was saved; do what we would for them. And this was not through any neglect (now that our wits were sharpened), but from the pure impossibility of finding them at all. That great snow never ceased a moment for three days and nights.

This account is given by John Ridd, the hero of the book. When he describes the snow, does he begin with its appearance, or its effect? At what point does the storm seem fiercest? Did John Ridd see any beauty in the mound of snow? What plan did he and his companions follow to reach the sheep? Why does he call the other men "pie crusts"? How do you know that Watch was intelligent? Do you understand what John Ridd meant by "a certain fierce delight" burning in him? Did John Fry feel it? Did he work for the same reason as John Ridd? Note the language of John Fry. Why does the writer devote so much space to describing the snow?

SUGGESTIONS FOR ORAL AND WRITTEN ENGLISH

THEME SUBJECTS

Do you feel anxious about the sheep? Do you wonder where they are? Whether they are alive? How, if found, they can be taken to a safe place? This feeling of interest, expectation, sometimes of excitement, is called suspense. The point of greatest suspense is called the

climax. Short stories usually end very quickly after the climax is reached. Where is the climax of this story? You have finally conquered some difficult task or met with some adventure. Describe the different stages of your experience. Try to make each difficulty a little greater, a little more interesting than the preceding one. Which of the following subjects would make the best title for your account?

Caught in a Storm.

How to Make a Sand Fort.

How Streets are Cleaned.

After a Snow Storm.

My First Sleigh Ride.

What Causes the Snow.

A Snow Fort.

How We Made a Snow Man.

A Remarkable Feat.

My First Hay Ride.

How I Finally Succeeded.

Describe the snow to some one who has never seen it, (a) its appearance, (b) its effect.

SUGGESTIONS FOR ADDITIONAL READINGS

Lorna Doone. Richard D. Blackmore.

Bob, Son of Battle. Alfred Ollivant.

Stickeen: The Story of My Dog. John Muir.

Grayfriars Bobby. Eleanor Atkinson.

Rab and his Friends. Dr. John Brown.

A Boy I Knew and Four Dogs. Laurence Hutton.

A Dog of Flanders. De la Ramée.

A Dog's Tale. S. L. Clemens.

The Bar Sinister. Richard Harding Davis.

Goliath (from Two Bites at a Cherry). Thomas Bailey Aldrich.

To Flush, My Dog (verse). Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come. John Fox, Jr.
The Animal Story Book. Andrew Lang.

THE ANGEL AND THE CHILD1

MARGARET STEELE ANDERSON

Margaret Steele Anderson lives in her birthplace, Louisville, Kentucky. She is a lecturer on art, a writer of books on that subject, a literary critic, and the author of a volume of exquisite verse entitled The Flame in the Wind (1913). See also:

Townsend's Kentucky in American Letters, pp. 318-320.

"OH, was it on that awful road,

The way of death, you came?" 2 "It was a little road," he said,

"I never knew its name."

"Is it not rough along that road?"
"I cannot tell," said he,

"Up to your gate, in her two arms,

My mother carried me.

"And will you show me Christ?" he said,
"And must we seek Him far?"

"That is our Lord, with children round,
Where little bluebells are."

"Why, so my mother sits at night,

When all the lights are dim!

Oh, would He mind

would it be right

If I should sit by Him?"

1 Copyright, 1913, by Margaret Steele Anderson. This poem is used by special arrangement with the author.

2 In the first two lines, the angel addresses the child, asking if he came to heaven by "that awful road" of death. Then follows the reply of the child, referred to as "he."