“The smile on Mr. Cross’s face had been growing bigger and bigger, until now it broke into a funny, chuckling laugh that made Mr. Cross shake all over. “‘Well, well!’ he ejaculated. ‘So the whole flock jumped over the wall, did they? Well, I can’t blame ’em much. Why, when I was a boy, if I had seen ten little girls coming to get acquainted with me, I’d have jumped over a stone wall myself. Ho, ho, ho!’ And Mr. Cross laughed and laughed, until the ten little girls would have laughed, too, only they could not quite, they were so scared. “‘We’re so sorry!’ said Mary Lamb. “‘Yes, we’re so sorry!’ said the nine others. “‘It was all my fault,’ confessed Mary Fox bravely. ‘And, oh! do you suppose they are lost forever ’n’ ever?’ “‘You come and see,’ chuckled Mr. Cross. Then he took his hat down from a peg, and he and the ten little girls went back to the pasture. “Over the fence they scrambled, and Mr. Cross took a little whistle from his pocket and blew it softly. “In a minute the head of a big sheep appeared, and before the ten little girls had time to think the whole flock were back in their own pasture and were coming straight for Mr. Cross. “‘Oh!’ cried Susan. “‘Oh! Oh!’ cried the nine others. “‘Well, well, well!’ said Mr. Cross. ‘Don’t mean to say you’re afraid? Well, they’ll be the ’fraidest--see!’ “Even then the sheep had stopped, hardly knowing whether to come or to turn back. “‘Needn’t be a mite afraid,’ Mr. Cross said to the ten little girls huddled close behind him, and then again softly he blew his whistle. “At that the sheep came forward, and the ten little girls were half frightened and half delighted to see how tame they were and how they fairly tumbled over one another to poke their noses into Mr. Cross’s pockets, to get the salt which was there. “‘Isn’t he nice!’ exclaimed Mary Lamb, after the ten little girls had bidden Mr. Cross a laughing good-bye. “‘Isn’t he!’ echoed the nine. “‘I think Jim Tucker was the cross one,’ said Mary Fox. “‘Anyway, Mr. Cross isn’t cross!’ declared Mary Lyon. “And that made the ten little girls laugh all the way home.” Benedicta started it. She dropped her crocheting in her lap and clapped her hands with a will. At that, everybody else clapped--everybody but Polly, and the most venturesome little patient cried out, “Hurrah! hurrah!” Of course, the rest followed, and among the cheers was plainly distinguishable a deeper voice than Dr. Abbe’s, a voice that seemed to come from the thicket back of where the story-teller was sitting. Everybody looked in that direction--everybody but Polly. She could not turn quickly, with Little Duke within the circle of one arm and Dolly Merrifield in the other. But Dolly screwed her head around just as a young man stepped into view. “Sardis!” she squealed; “oh, Sardis!”