p were
made to climb and scramble over rocky places, and they are stronger and
healthier for doing it."

"I'd rather be a range sheep!" declared Donald.

"And I!" agreed Sandy promptly. "But you're no through telling me about
the sorts of sheep you learned about. Didn't anybody tell you about the
Cotswolds?"

Donald shook his head.

"Oh, that's a sad pity. They are such big, grand fellows with their
white faces and white legs. And dinna forget the Lincolns. You will have
no trouble in knowing a Lincoln. They are the heaviest sheep we have,
and their wool is long. A Lincoln is handsome as a painting; in fact I'd
far rather have one than some of the paintings I've seen. You want to
get sight of one when its fleece is full! We have a scattering, too, of
Leicesters and Dorset Horns, but the Dorsets are such fighters that I
dinna care much for them. They will even attack the dogs."

"I never heard of sheep doing that!"

"Now and again they will, but not often."

Sandy paused and began to whistle softly to himself.

"Are--are those all the kinds of sheep, Sandy?" ventured Donald at last,
after he had waited for some time and there seemed to be no prospect of
Sandy coming to the end of his tune.

"All! Hear the lad! All! Indeed and that's not all! There are Cheviots
from the English and Scotch hill country. You've had a cheviot suit,
mayhap. Yes? Well, that's where you got it. Then there is the Tunis and
the Persian. California, Nevada, and Texas raise Persians. They are a
fat-tailed sheep. We never went in for them here. In England you will
find a host of other sorts of sheep that are raised on the English
Downs; most of them are short-haired and are raised not so much for
their wool as for their mutton. There are Southdowns, Hampshire Downs,
Sussex, Oxfords, Shropshire Downs, and the Dorset Horns. We always like
some Shropshires in our herd."

"Oh, Sandy," groaned Donald with a wry smile, "I never, never can
remember all these kinds."

"Dinna shed tears about it, laddie. The wool will keep growing on their
backs just the same. But it's likely that you'll never again be thinking
that a sheep is just a sheep!"

"Indeed I shan't!"

"As for myself," went on Sandy, "I like all kinds; I like the smell of
them, and being with them on the range. You'll like the range, too, if
your father lets you go. You'll like the big sky, the crisp air, and the
peace of it."

"I hope he will let me go."

"Dinna fear! We will