inquiring for salt, Miss Laura
said: "Is it for the sheep?"

"Yes," he replied; "I am going up to the woods pasture to examine my
Shropshires."

"You would like to go too, Laura," said Mrs. Wood. "Take your hands
right away from that cake. I'll finish frosting it for you. Run along
and get your broad-brimmed hat. It's very hot."

Miss Laura danced out into the hall and back again, and soon we were
walking up, back of the house, along a path that led us through the
fields to the pasture. "What are you going to do, uncle?" she said; "and
what are those funny things in your hands?"

"Toe-clippers," he replied, "and I am going to examine the sheeps'
hoofs. You know we've had warm, moist weather all through July, and I'm
afraid of foot-rot. Then they're sometimes troubled with overgrown
hoofs."

"What do you do if they get foot-rot?" asked Miss Laura.

"I've various cures," he said. "Paring and clipping, and dipping the
hoof in blue vitriol and vinegar, or rubbing it on, as the English
shepherds do. It destroys the diseased part, but doesn't affect the
sound."

"Do sheep have many diseases?" asked Miss Laura. "I know one of them
myself--that is the scab."

"A nasty thing that," said Mr. Wood, vigorously; "and a man that builds
up a flock from a stockyard often finds it out to his cost."

"What is it like?" asked Miss Laura.

"The sheep get scabby from a microbe under the skin, which causes them
to itch fearfully, and they lose their wool."

"And can't it be cured?"

"Oh, yes! with time and attention. There are different remedies. I
believe petroleum is the best."

By this time we had got to a wide gate that opened into the pasture. As
Mr. Wood let Miss Laura go through and then closed it behind her, he
said, "You are looking at that gate. You want to know why it is so long,
don't you?"

"Yes, uncle," she said; "but I can't bear to ask so many questions."

"Ask as many as you like," he said, good-naturedly. "I don't mind
answering them. Have you ever seen sheep pass through a gate or door?"

"Oh, yes, often."

"And how do they act?"

"Oh, so silly, uncle. They hang back, and one waits for another; and,
finally, they all try to go at once."

"Precisely; when one goes they all want to go, if it was to jump into a
bottomless pit. Many sheep are injured by overcrowding, so I have my
gates and doors very wide. Now, let us call them up." There wasn't one
in sight, but when Mr. Wood lifted up his voice and