mill-head. It was supplied by the waste from the pond, and, when the gate
was shut, rambled easily over the gray slate pebbles, with here and there a
fall just forcible enough to serve as a douche-bath for a well-grown sheep.
The victims were panting in their heavy fleeces, and mingling their hoarse,
plaintive tremolo with the ripple of the water and the sound of young
voices in a frolic. Dorothy had divided her forces for the washing to the
best advantage. The two elder boys stood in midstream to receive the sheep,
which she, with the help of little Jimmy, caught and dragged to the bank.

The boys were at work now upon an elderly ewe, while Dorothy stood on the
brink of the stream braced against an ash sapling, dragging forward by the
fleece a beautiful but reluctant yearling. Her bare feet were incased in a
pair of moccasins that laced around the ankle; her petticoats were kilted,
and her broad hat bound down with a ribbon; one sleeve was rolled up, the
other had been sacrificed in a scuffle in the sheep-pen. The new candidate
for immersion stood bleating and trembling with her forefeet planted
against the slippery bank, pushing back with all her strength while Jimmy
propelled from the rear.

"Boys!" Dorothy's clear voice called across the stream. "_Do_ hurry! She's
been in long enough, now! Keep her head up, can't you, and squeeze the wool
_hard_! You're not _half_ washing! Oh, Reuby! thee'll drown her! Keep her
_head_ up!"

Another unlucky douse and another half-smothered bleat,--Dorothy released
the yearling and plunged to the rescue. "Go after that lamb, Reuby!" she
cried with exasperation in her voice. Reuby followed the yearling, that
had disappeared over the orchard slope, upsetting an obstacle in its path,
which happened to be Jimmy. He was wailing now on the bank, while Dorothy,
with the ewe's nose tucked comfortably in the bend of her arm, was parting