They gnawed and sucked all my "daisy" fringe, until the first thing that had to be done when a lamb arrived at the house, was to take off muslins and fringes from that, the only trimmed table in the house.
Often and often, of a cold night (for we must remember that New Zealand lambing used always to come off in winter), we would all become suddenly aware of a strong smell of burning pervading the whole house; which, on being traced to its source, was often found to proceed from the rosette of wool on the forehead of a chilly lamb.

The creature drew nearer and nearer to the genial warmth of the kitchen fire, until at last it used to lean its brow pensively against the red hot bars.

Hence arose the powerful odour gradually filling the whole of the little wooden house.
Of course I used to rush to the rescue, and draw my bewildered pet away from the fatal warmth, but not until it had usually singed the wool off down to the bone, and there was often a bad burn on its forehead as well.

But still, in spite of stupidity and an insatiable appetite, I always grieved very sincerely for each of my orphan lambs as it in turn sank into its early grave.

I used to be well laughed at for attaching any sentiment to an animal which had sunk so disgracefully low in the money-market as a New Zealand lamb, but the abundant supply of my little pets never made it easier for me to lose the particular one which I had set my heart on rearing.