Or Tom Yancey gathered up the lambs, his flock, with his cries, cries the sheep knew from long use, and carried them with him down the pasture. A woman once said, “If a young lamb is lost from its mother and is off in some far part of the field, I’ll tell you what he can do. Two hundred lambs he’s got, and over, and you’d think they all look just alike. He can pick up the lamb and carry it across the field amongst a hundred-and-over ewes, and set it down alongside its own mother.” He was seen walking down a field carrying a young lamb in his arms. Or on another day he took all the sheep across two farms, down lanes and turnings, taking them to newer eatage. He would walk at the head of the flock, sometimes calling gently, and all the sheep walked close about him. His form stood high out of the sheep. A woman standing in a doorway, seeing him pass, the tall man that he was with the low sheep following and flowing around his feet, said, “The Good Shepherd. Look! How he’s got them gentled!” and another voice, “They confidence him, the sheep.” And, “See, there goes the Good Shepherd, goen past.” Theodosia saw them flow about his feet like dull yellow-gray waves of water when he took them from pasture to pasture to feed. But one day, June, he sold them to the trader, and then he led them down the road, past the shop, past the store, beyond the schoolhouse and over the creek, along the stony road, himself walking ahead and calling with low cries if the sheep lagged, but they lagged but seldom, for they flowed evenly after him, crowding for near places and hurdling up toward his shadow, running up the stony lane toward the shipping pen. They were seen intently long after they were gone from the way, seen moving along the highroads and farther. * * * * *