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THE TWIN LAMBS
Clara Dillingham Pierson
There was a Lamb, a bright, frisky, young fellow,
who had a twin sister. Their mother loved them
both and was as kind to one as to the other, but
the brother wanted to have the best of everything,
and sometimes he even bunted his sister with his
hard little forehead. His mother had to speak to
him many times about this, for he was one of those
trying children who will not mind when first spoken to.
He did not really mean to be naughty — he was
only strong and frisky and thoughtless. Sometimes
he was even rude to his mother. She felt very sad
when this was so; yet she loved him dearly and
found many excuses for him in her own heart.
There were three other pairs of twins in the flock
that year, and as their mothers were not strong
enough to care for two
Lambs apiece, the farmer
had taken one twin from
each pair to a Httle pen
near the house. Here they
stayed, playing happily
together, and drinking milk
from a bottle which the
farmer’s wife brought to
them. They were hungry
very often, like all young
children, and when their
stomachs began to feel
empty, they crowded against
the side of the pen, pushed their pinkish-white noses
through the openings between the boards, and bleated
and bleated and bleated to the farmer’s wife.
Soon she would come from the kitchen door and
in her hand would bring the big bottle full of
milk for them. There was a soft rubber top to this
bottle, through which the Lambs could draw the
milk into their mouths. Of course they all wanted
to drink at once, though there was only a chance
for one, and the others always became impatient
while they were waiting. The farmer’s wife was
patient, even when the Lambs, in their hurry to
get the milk, took her fingers into their mouths
and bit them instead of the top of the bottle.
Our twin Lamb wanted to have his sister taken
into the pen with the other three, and he spoke
about it to his mother. “I know how you can
manage,” said he. “Whenever she comes near you,
just walk away from her, and then the farmer will
take her up to the pen.”
“You selfish fellow T’ answered his mother. “Do
you want your dear little twin sister to leave us?”
He hung his head for a minute, but replied, “She’d
have just as good a time. They have all they can
eat up there, and they have lots of fun.”
“If you think it is so pleasant in the pen,” said
his mother, “suppose I begin to walk away from
you, and let the farmer take you away. I think
your sister would rather stay with me.”
“Oh, no!” cried her son. “I don’t want to leave
my own dear woolly mother! I want to cuddle up
to you every night and have you tell me stories
about the stars.”
“Do you think you love me very much?” said she.
“You don’t know how really to love yet, for you
are selfish, and there is not room in a selfish heart
for the best kind of love.”
That made the lamb feel very bad. “I do love
her dearly,” he cried, as he stood alone. “I believe
I love her ever so much more than my sister does.”
That was where the little fellow was mistaken,
for, although his sister did not talk so much about
it, she showed her love in many other ways. If she
had been taken from her mother for even a few days,
they could never again have had such sweet and
happy days together. Sheep look much alike, and
they cannot remember each other’s faces very long.
If a Lamb is taken away from his mother for even
a short time, they do not know each other when
they meet afterward. Perhaps this is one reason
why they keep together so much, for it would be
sad indeed not to know one’s mother or one’s child.
His sister never knew that he had wanted her
taken away. She thought he acted queerly sometimes,
but she was so loving and unselfish herself that
she did not dream of his selfishness. Instead of
putting the idea out of his woolly little head, as
he could have done by thinking more of other things,
the brother let himself think of it more and more.
That made him impatient with even his mother,
and he often answered her quite crossly. Some-
times, when she spoke to him, he did not answer,
and that was just as bad.
His mother would sigh and say to herself, “My
child is not a comfort to me after all; yet when I
looked for the first time into his dear little face,
I thought that as long as I had him beside me I
should always be happy.”
One night, wheil the weather was fair and warm,
the farmer drove all the Sheep and Lambs into the
Sheep-shed. They had been lying out under the
beautiful blue sky at night, and they did not like
this nearly so well. They did not understand it
either; so they were frightened and bewildered, and
bleated often to each other, “What is this for? What
is this for?”
The Lambs did not mind it so much, for they
were not warmly dressed, but the Sheep, whose
wool had been growing for a year and was long
and heavy, found it very close and uncomfortable.
They did not know that the farmer had a reason
for keeping them dry that night while the heavy dew
was falling outside. The same thing was done every
year, but they could not remember so long as that.
“Stay close to me, children,” said the mother of
the twins. “I may forget how you look if you are
away long.”
“It seems to me,” said the brother, “that we
always have to stay close to you. I never have a
bit of fun!”
When they had cuddled down for the night, the
twin Lambs slept soundly. Their mother lay awake
for a long, long time in the dark, and she was not
happy. A few careless words from a selfish little
Lamb had made her heart ache. They were not
true words either, for during the daytime her children
ran with their playmates and had fine frolics. Still,
we know that when people are out of patience they
often say things that are not really so.
In the morning, men came into the barn, which
opened off the Sheep-shed. They had on coarse,
old clothing, and carried queer-looking shears in
their hands. The Sheep could see them now and
then when the door was open. Once the farmer
stood in the doorway and seemed to be counting
them. This made them huddle together more closely
than ever. They could see the men carrying clean
yellow straw into the barn and spreading it on the
floor. On top of this was stretched a great sheet
of clean cloth.
Then the men began to come into the shed and
catch the Sheep and carry them into the barn. They
were frightened and bleated a good deal, but when
one was caught and carried away, although he might
struggle hard to free himself, he did not open his
mouth. The old Wether Sheep was the first to be
taken, and then the young ones who had been Lambs
the year before. For a long time not one of the
mothers was chosen. Still, nobody knew what
would happen next, and so, the fewer Sheep there
were left, the more closely they huddled together.
At last, when the young Sheep had all been taken,
one of the men caught the mother of the twins and
carried her away. She turned her face toward her
children, but the door swung shut after her, and
they were left with the other Lambs and their
mothers. From the barn came the sound of snip-
snip-snipping and the murmur of men’s voices.
Once the twins thought they saw their mother lying
on the floor and a man kneeling beside her, holding
her head and forelegs under his arm; yet they were
not sure of this.
The brother ran to the corner of the shed and
put his head against the boards. He suddenly
felt very young and helpless. “My dear, woolly
mother r’ he said to himself, over and over, and
he wondered if he would ever see her again. He
remembered what he had said to her the night be-
fore. It seemed to him that he could even now
hear his own voice saying crossly, “Seems to me
we always have to stay close to you. I never have
a bit of fun!” He wished he had not said it. He
knew she was a dear mother, and he would have
given anything in the world for a chance to stay
close to her again.
His sister felt as lonely and frightened as he,
but she did not act in the same way. She stood
close to a younger Lamb whose mother had just
been taken away, and tried to comfort her. One
by one the mothers were taken until only the Lambs
remained. They were very hungry now, and bleated
pitifully. Still the twin brother stood with his
head in the corner*. He had closed his eyes, but
now he opened them, and through a crack in the
wall of the shed, he saw some very slender and white”
looking Sheep turned into the meadow. At first
they acted dizzy, and staggered instead of walking
straight; then they stopped staggering and began
to frisk. ‘^Can it be?” said he. “It surely is!”
For, although he had never in his short life seen a
newly shorn Sheep, he began to understand what
had happened.
He knew that the men had only been clipping
the long wool from the Sheep, and that they were
now ready for warm weather. No wonder they
frisked when their heavy burdens of wool were care-
fully taken off.
Now the farmer opened the door into the barn
again, and let the Lambs walk through it to the
gate of the meadow. They had never before been
inside this barn, and the twin brother looked quickly
around as he scampered across the floor. He saw
some great ragged bundles of wool, and a man was
just rolling up the last fleece. He wondered if that
had been taken from his mother and was the very
one against which he had cuddled when he was cold.
When they first reached the pasture, the Lambs
could not tell which were their mothers. Shearing
off their long and dingy fleeces had made such a
difference in their looks! The twin brother knew
his mother by her walking and by her voice, but
he could see that his sister did not know her at all.
He saw his mother wandering around as though
she did not know where to find her children, and
a naughty plan came into his head. If he could
keep his sister from finding their mother for even a
short time, he knew that the farmer would take her
off to the pen. He thought he knew just how to
do it, and he started to run to her. Then he
stopped and remembered how sad and lonely he
had been without his mother only a little while
before, and he began to pity the Lambs in the pen.
Now his selfishness and his goodness were fighting
hard in him. One said, “Send your sister away,”
and the other, *Take her to your mother/* At
last he ran as fast as he could toward his sister.
“I am good now,” he said to himself, “but it may
not last long. I will tell her before I am naughty
again.”
“Oh, sister!” cried he. “Come with me to our
mother. She doesn’t know where to find us.”
He saw a happy look on his sister’s sad little
face, and he was glad that he had done the right
thing. They skipped away together, kicking up
their heels as they went, and it seemed to the brother
that he had never been so happy in his life. He
was soon to be happier, though, for when they
reached his “new, white mother,” as he called her,
and his sister told her how he had shown her the
way, his mother said, “Now you are a comfort to
me. You will be a happier Lamb, too, for you
know that a mother’s heart is large enough for all
her children, and that the more one loves, the better
he loves.”
“Why, of course,” said the twin sister. “What
do you mean?”
But the mother never told her, and the brother
never told her, and it is hoped that you will keep
the secret.
