. . . any person who could have rolled it over the hedge; and stones cannot move by themselves. She stood looking towards the place where the white thing lay, unable to decide what it was. In a few moments she heard the faint bleat of a lamb. Now she guessed it was a poor lamb, which had been frightened. She supposed that, in its haste to get away from the cause of its terror, it had fallen down the high bank into the lane. She feared it was much hurt; for it cried, as if it was in pain, and did not attempt to move. She went up close to it: it lay quite still: she patted its back—it bleated piteously—it tried to lick her hand. She was surprised to find it so gentle, till she observed a blue ribbon about its neck: then she thought it was Miss Beauchamp’s 9pet-lamb. She had been told that Miss Beauchamp had a favourite lamb, which was so tame that it fed out of her hand. She recollected, likewise, that the field next the lane belonged to Sir Henry . . . Read More