“  all day. When night came I could not bear to leave it, for fear it would die, so mother made me up a little bed on the settle, and I nursed the poor thing all night, feeding it with a spoon, and by morning it could stand. After this we brought it up by hand, until it grew to love me very much, and would stay with me wherever I went unless it was tied. I used before going to school in the morning to see that the lamb was all right and securely fastened for the day. Well, one morning, when my brother Nat and I were all ready, the lamb could not be found, and supposing that it had gone out to pasture with the cows, we started on. I used to be a great singer, and the lamb would follow the sound of my voice. This morning, after we had gone some distance, I began to sing, and the lamb, hearing me, followed on and overtook us before we got to the schoolhouse. As it happened, we were early, so I went in very quietly, took the lamb into my seat, where it went to sleep, and I covered it up with my shawl. When the teacher came and the rest of the scholars, they did not notice anything amiss, and all was quiet until my spelling class was called. I had hardly taken my place before the pattering of little feet was heard coming down the aisle, and the lamb stood beside me ready for its word. Of course the children all laughed, and the teacher laughed, too, and the poor creature had to be turned out of doors. But it kept coming back, and at last had to be tied in the woodshed till night. Now that day there was a young man in school, John Roulston by name, who was on a visit to one of the boys, and came in as spectator. He was a Boston boy, and son of the riding school master, and was fitting for Harvard College. He was very much pleased over what he saw in our school, and a few days after gave us the first three verses of the song. How or when it got into print I don't know.” Thus she ran on, telling of the care she bestowed on her pet until it grew to be a sheep, and she would curl its long wool over a stick; and it bore lambs until there was a flock of five all her own; and finally how it was killed by an angry cow. Then she brought out a pair of her little girl stockings, knitted of yarn
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Reminiscences of Southern Prison life.
Address of William H. Armstrong at Memorial service October 31 , 1909 .
Address of F. M. Hawes at Memorial service October 31 , 1909 .
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