"You are foolish to grow so much wool, for the farmer will cut it all off, and it will do you no good. Now I am growing just as little as possible, for since he steals what I have I am determined he shall get very little wool from my back." Black Sheep did not reply to this, for she thought the old ram very ill-tempered and selfish, and believed he was doing wrong not to grow more wool. Finally the time came to shear the sheep again, and the farmer and his man came into the pasture to look at them, and were surprised to see what a fine, big fleece the Black Sheep had grown. "There will be three bagsful at the least," said the master, "and I will keep my promise and give one to the little boy in the lane. But, my goodness! how scraggly and poor the old ram looks. There is scarcely any wool on him at all. I think I must sell him to the butcher!" And, in truth, although the ram kicked and struggled and bleated with rage, they tied his legs and put him into the cart and carried him away to the butcher. And that was the last the sheep ever saw of him. But the Black Sheep ran up to the bars by the lane and waited with a glad heart till the little boy came. When he saw the sheep waiting for him he asked, "Black Sheep, Black Sheep, have you any wool?" And the sheep replied, "Yes my little master, three bags full!" "That is fine!" said the boy; "but who are the three bags for?" "One for my master, one for his dame, And one for the little boy that lives in the lane." "Thank you, Black Sheep," said the little boy; "you are very kind, and I shall always think of you when I wear my new coat." The next day the sheep were all sheared, and the Black Sheep's fleece made three big bagsful. The farmer kept his promise and carried one bag to the little boy that lived in the lane, and the wool was so soft and so heavy that there was enough not only for the new coat, but to make his mother a warm dress as well. The Black Sheep was very proud and happy when the mother and her little boy came down to the bars and showed the new clothes that had been made from the wool. "This pays me for all my trouble," said the Black Sheep, and the little boy reached his hand through the bars and patted her gently upon the head. [Illustration: Old King Cole] Old King Cole Old King Cole was a merry old soul, And a merry old soul was he; He called for his pipe and he called for his bowl And he called for his fiddlers three. OLD KING COLE was not always a king, nor was he born a member of any royal family. It was only chance--"hard luck" he used to call it--that made him a king at all. He had always been a poor man, being the son of an apple peddler, who died and left him nothing but a donkey and a fiddle. But that was enough for Cole, who never bothered his head about the world's goods, but took things as they came and refused to worry about anything.