his punishment. When it was too late, he promised that he never would do so any more, and would try all he could to make up for his disobedience.

After lying for a little while, thinking what he could do, Baakin supposed it would be best to get back to the field, in case the shepherd should look for him; but, worse and worse, when he tried to move, he found he had hurt his leg in his fall, and he was obliged to lie among the thorns and the brambles, without a blade of grass on that sand-bank to moisten his mouth; and he thought he should lie there till he died of hunger.

Once or twice, during that long night, he fancied he heard dogs bark; and as he was so silly as to be afraid of dogs, he thought they would come and kill him. Nobody knows how miserable he was as he lay there, wet from having been in the ponds, cold and stiff, moaning and crying. At last, quite exhausted, he fell asleep; and when he awoke the sun was high, and he tried to rise. He could not stand, and in his pain, cried out, "Oh dear! oh dear! I suppose I have broken my leg. I shall never be able to stand any more. I shall never see my dear mamma again. What shall I do! what shall I do!"

As poor Baakin lay bleating and crying, two young ladies were taking an early walk, before the violent heat of a summer day came on; and they had passed along the hedge, to gather wild roses while the dew was upon them. When they heard the lamenting of the lamb, one said, "There is a poor little creature in distress; let us look and see what can be done for it." They soon came up to Baakin, who trembled when he saw them, but said "Baa," in

a very weak voice. They pitied him very much, and tried to set him on his legs; but when they found that he could not stand, they felt him all over, and as he started when they touched his leg, they were sure that was the part in which he was hurt.

At first the young ladies did not know what to do with him, but at last they agreed to carry him in turns; and recollecting they had passed a field in which was a large flock of sheep, they supposed he might belong to it, and said they would take him there. Baakin longed to tell them who he was, but he could not speak their language, and all he could do was to bleat, and lick their hands. He was very fat, and therefore very heavy, but they did not mind. that, and sometimes put him across their shoulders; but seeing this gave him pain, they carried him in their frocks. They were often obliged to rest, and they sat down and rubbed him, and fed him with handfuls of fine, cool grass, which did him a great deal of good.

At last the kind helpers of the lamb came to the field where the flock was; they opened the gate, and went in. They looked round them, and saw a sheep lying at a little distance from the others, appearing to be very sad, and now and then moaning. Baakin bleated; she stood up, put back her ears, and listened. He bleated again, and she rushed to the place where the young ladies stood with him in their arms, crying aloud; they laid him down on the ground, and the two then bleated together so much, that many of the other sheep came round them to see what was the matter. The young ladies almost cried to see the joy of the good mother, and were quite pleased that they had brought

her child to her. She did not scold him as he deserved, but told him how unhappy she had been, and was very sorry he was so hurt. She laid herself close to him to warm him, and said that the shepherd had come in a great hurry to take them to another field; that his dogs had driven them all close together, and she thought he was in the crowd, so that it was not till they were far away that she knew he was not there.

The young ladies went to the farmer's house to tell what they had done, and ask him to see to the lamb's hurt leg. He was greatly obliged to them for carrying him so far, and gave them some strawberries and cream for breakfast. He then went to Baakin, and was much pleased to find that he had only sprained, and not broken, his leg. He put a bandage upon it, and the lamb was soon able to skip round his mother, whose side he took care never to leave again as long as she lived. By the time she died, he himself was grown up, and walked about, with a bell round his neck, at the head of the flock. He told all the young lambs the story of the night passed in such sorrow and pain, and how he should have died if it had not been for the kind young ladies; and how all his trouble came from not minding what his mamma said, and thinking he knew better than any body else.

THE GREEDY COW.

FARMER PAWSEY had several cows, who supplied him with plenty of butter and cheese for market, and among them was one named Fair Star. She was so called, not only because she was so very pretty, but because she was white all over, except a few small red spots on her sides, with a large red star upon her forehead. Her coat shone like satin; her small head, her full eyes, and her whole shape, made her the handsomest cow in the yard. She was also very good-tempered, never had her legs tied when she was milked, for fear she should kick the pail and the milk-maid into the dirt, and always answered when she was called. She was very full of fun; sometimes stuck up her long tail, and ran across the meadows as if she thought she was as good as a race-horse, in which she was very much mistaken, for cows can never run as fast as horses. Fair Star, however, was such a favourite with all the people in the yard, and had so often heard herself praised, that she thought a great deal of herself. I am afraid to say how conceited she was, for she not only supposed she was better looking than all the others, but better tempered.

Fair Star always obeyed the voice of Ben the cow-boy when he called her to go to the farm to be milked, even though she might be lying on the ground chewing the grass which she had swallowed, as it rose again into her mouth,

and which is called chewing the cud; so that Ben said she was his darling, and never gave him any trouble. As she walked quietly home, she sometimes turned her head round to see who was looking at her, and expected them to say, "What a pretty cow!" which was very silly of her, for she did not make herself, and therefore need not have been proud of her beauty.

A worse fault was that of boasting that she was very good, and telling the other cows she never was naughty, and always did as she was bid; and when they had some food thrown to them in the yard, and rushed to it, and pushed each other in order to get the first mouthful, she declared she could not think how they could be so vulgar as to make such a noise and bustle to get something to eat,they ought to wait quietly for their turns, as she did. Then they answered, "We know why you are so patient, it is because when Ben sees you have not had any, he always brings you some on purpose for yourself, and therefore you have the most." To this Fair Star never replied, but she felt it was true; and therefore she was sometimes so angry, that if she had had horns, she would have stuck them into the cows who made this spiteful speech.

The fact is, that both daintiness and greediness were two great defects in Fair Star's character. If, in the corner of a field, she found a patch of juicy, tender grass, sprinkled with buttercups or daisies, she never called her companions to share it with her, but munched it all up herself as fast as she could; or if she thought any of them came near enough to see it, she lay down upon it, and covered it, that they might not deprive her of the treat. It must be