‘Even more, I should think,—a thousand, certainly; and rather thin they look, too.’ ‘I should imagine they might,’ said Bell, sympathetically. ‘When I first came to California I never could see how the poor creatures found anything to eat on these bare, brown hillsides, until the farmers showed me the prickly little burr clover balls that cover the ground. But see, mamma! there are some tiny lambs, poor, tired, weak-legged little things; I wonder if they will live through the journey.’ ‘Which reminds me,’ said Jack, giving Villikins a touch of the whip, ‘that nothing is so calculated to disturb your faith in and love for lambs as life on a sheep ranch. Innocent! Good gracious! I never saw such—such—’ ‘Gasping, staggering, stuttering, stammering tom-fools,’ interposed Bell. ‘That’s what Carlyle called _one_ Lamb,—dear Mr. “Roast Pig” Charles; and a mean old thing he was, too, for doing it.’ ‘Well, it is just strong enough to apply to the actual lamb; not the lamb of romance, but the lamb of reality. You can’t get him anywhere; he doesn’t know enough. He won’t drive, he can’t follow; he’s too stupid. Why, I went out for a couple of ’em once, that were lost in the cañon. I found them,—that was comparatively easy; but when I tried to get them home, I couldn’t. At last, after infinite trouble, I managed to drive them up on to the trail, which was so narrow there was but one thing for a rational creature to do, and that was to go ahead. Then, if you’ll believe me, those idiots kept bleating and getting under the horse’s fore-feet; finally, one of them, the champion simpleton, tumbled over into the cañon, and I tied the legs of the other one together, and carried him home on the front of my saddle.’ ‘They are innocent, any way,’ insisted Margery. ‘I won’t believe they’re not. I can’t bear these people who interfere with all your cherished ideas, and say that Columbus didn’t discover America, and Shakespeare wasn’t Shakespeare, and William Tell didn’t shoot the apple.’ ‘Nevertheless, I claim that the lamb is not half so much an emblem of innocence as he is of utter and profound stupidity. There is that charming old lyric about Mary’s little lamb; I can explain that. After he came to school (which was an error of judgment at the very beginning), he made the rumpus, you know— “And then the teacher turned him out, But still he lingered nee-ar, And waited patiently about Till Mary did appee-ar.” Of course he did. He didn’t know enough to go home alone. “And then he ran to her and laid His head upon her arr-um, As if to say, ‘I’m not afraid; You’ll keep me from all harr-um.’” As if a lamb could be capable of that amount of reasoning! And then “‘What makes the lamb love Mary so? The eager children cry; ‘Why, Mary loves the lamb, you know,’ The teacher did reply.”