"

"Ha!" cried Aunt Nancy Ewe. And she flung at Snowball the very words he
had used the day before. "Johnnie Green's 'to-morrow' means 'never!'"

"Oh! I hope not!" cried Snowball. "That would be awful!"

Somehow Snowball managed to get through that first dreadful day. But the
following day he gave up all hope; for Johnnie Green never came near
him. Nor did he come the next day, nor the next, nor the next.

Little by little the sheep stopped teasing Snowball. Little by little he
became used to having one side of him sheared and the other side thick
with fleece.

For some time he tried to keep as much out of sight as possible, grazing
along the stone wall where he could bury himself in the bushes whenever
one of the flock strayed near him. Or if he couldn't hide, he took pains
to stand so that only one side of him should show.

It was a long while before his neighbors stopped smiling when they saw
him. But finally there were only two in the flock that couldn't seem to
forget how ridiculous Snowball looked. These were the young black ram
and old Aunt Nancy Ewe. And perhaps they can't be blamed, because
Snowball had once openly made fun of them. When they were near him
Snowball was very uncomfortable. But with the rest of the flock he felt
more at his ease. And sometimes he even went so far as to say that he
_enjoyed_ being half sheared.

"On a cool day I find it pleasant to turn my clipped side toward the
sun," he would remark. "And if there's a chilly wind I don't have to
shiver. I let it blow against my fleecy side; and I never feel it."

In two weeks Snowball was claiming that he _preferred_ to be only half
sheared.

Maybe that was true. Maybe he was only trying to make himself think it
was. Anyhow, when Johnnie Green came into the pasture one day and called
to him Snowball bounded down the grassy slope toward the bars.

And when he came back to the pasture, some time later, he didn't look
very different from his companions. One side of him, however, showed a
pinkish tinge, because Johnnie Green had just sheared that side very
close. And the fleece on his other side had already begun to grow out a
bit.

But Snowball didn't mind that. He had a pink nose, always. And he said
that pink was his favorite color.

And never again did he laugh at anybody, no matter how queer a person
might look.

THE END

SLUMBER-TOWN TALES

(Trademark Registered.)

By ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY

AUTHOR OF THE