My grandfather would open his eyes in amazement; and ask me if I was an old women petting her cats, if he were alive, and could know the care I give my sheep.

He used to let his flock run till the fields were covered with snow, and bite as close as they liked, till there wasn't a scrap of feed left.

Then he would give them an open shed to run under, and throw down their hay outside.

Grain they scarcely knew the taste of.

That they would fall off in flesh, and half of them lose their lambs in the spring, was an expected thing.