If you take a short-horned cow, a limping calf, a few sheep, a swarm of fowls, a pig with a litter of eight, and an everyday lazy kind of horse, you have John Dobbin’s well-stocked farm.

One morning John woke up at five, bustled round the hen coop, gave an extra feed to the pigs, milked the cow, fed the limping calf, and then went into the stables.

“Now, Sally, old girl,” he said, making some fuss as he fed his old mare, “just keep your eye on things a bit. I’m goin’ round to Farmer Peckett. He’s in bed, bad with rheumatism, an’ I shan’t be back afore dinner.” So saying he took the halter from Sally’s neck, and let her roam about at will.

Sally left to herself felt glumpy.

“Now where’s the master gone off this morning,” thought she. “Farmer Peckett. I know no Farmer Peckett. It’s very queer his leaving us all alone. Something might go wrong while he’s away, and he can see to things a lot better than me. Just look! There’s that calf a limping among the lettuces. And that knock-kneed hen with her chirrupy brood scratching the carrots up as if she was seeking to-morrow. I do believe those bees mean to swarm, and no master here. I’ve watched him swarm ’em many a time, but I couldn’t manage it.”

“If you’re not off about your business, you old gimmer,” as a long-nosed sheep looked through the hedge—“I’ll, I’ll— Now what do you want?” called out Sally, turning from the patient ewe to a fat, wheezy donkey coming up the garden path. “What brings you here this morning, Neddy?”

“He-haw!” said Neddy, rolling his tongue round and round, and giving a three-cornered look out of his left eye. “Thought I’d just see how you were getting on, Sal! But you do look prime.”

“Just be off about your business.”

“Beg your pardon, my lady. But if you have no objections I’ll just march myself off into the stable. I know Farmer Dobbin supplies you with good fodder.” And away went Neddy “he-hawing” for all he was worth, and frightening the chicks out of their poor little senses.

While Sally was looking after him, and marvelling at his cool impertinence, up came a tinker. “Pans to mend, kettles to mend, scraps of old iron,” he cried.

“What, Sally!” he called out cheerfully to her.

“He-haw!” bellowed Neddy.

“Where’s John Dobbin? Are ye carryin’ on the farm by yourself, Sally? Well, you’re a fine steed to place in front of any man’s castle! I’ll speak a word for ye when I see the general again. He’s sure to be wanting a new charger to carry him off to the wars soon. But I see you’re figgity, Sally, so I’ll bid you good-day. Pans to mend! Kettles to mend! Scraps of old iron!”

“Mercy on us!” wailed the frightened creature, the perspiration dropping from her nose end. “How thankful I am to think he’s gone! If he’d walked into the kitchen, and master out, he’d have smoked up all his new baccy. When will it be twelve o’clock? Oh, but I don’t like looking after things. I will be glad when master comes home.” Because she felt relieved of anxiety a warm feeling spread all over Sally, and her poor old heart felt happy. Even Neddy’s ugly “he-hawing” failed to rouse her ire. So she fell to trotting about the garden in a silly kind of way. While Sally was frisking about in a happy-go-lucky fashion, up came a sailor.

“Morning,” he said, “fine time o’ year this.”

Sally looked sad.

“No one at home, eh? Where’s John Dobbin? Hasn’t left any message, eh! Stand out of the way and I’ll go into the house, and sit down till John comes. Bravo! my beauty,” stroking the limping calf, “you’re a fine mixed lot of customers I can see. Master John will be at the market I’ll be bound. It’s twenty year since John and me met. Won’t we have a fine time of it now. I hear he’s never married, n’more have I. Wait till he comes in, we’ll be spinning yarns till bed-time.”

All this time Sally was pawing at the cobbles with her hoof. “Well, you’re a cool hand to be sure,” thought she. “And he’s helping himself to my master’s baccy. Well, if that doesn’t beat all. I’ve got him in the kitchen at any rate, and if he isn’t quite quiet, he looks honest. I’d best be off and see how Neddy’s getting on, for he’s a first-class scamp if you like.” And away she trotted, seeing on the road that the bees were hard at work, for you will understand how this lazy old horse was most particular that everyone else but herself should be working. She did not like to see anything idle. If you notice, animals that have lived a long time with people learn to know their ways. And it may sound funny to you children, but I have often seen animals try and imitate their owners. So if any of you have a pet you must be careful and behave kindly before it, for then, at least, you will be setting a good example. And I would advise you to have nothing to do with a boy whose dog fears him, or with a girl who is not kind to her dollies.

“Now, where is Neddy?” said the weary mare, “for not a speck of him can I find. There’s every bit of fodder munched up—rakes and spades kicked about—yes, he’s been here sure enough. And there’s the brand new bucket stamped on. Whatever will Master say? This is keeping an eye on things till master comes back, isn’t it! Oh! dear me. I’ve got a run-a-gate donkey somewhere and a Jack Tar in the kitchen smoking my master’s baccy.”

“Bow-wow-wow!”

“What’s the matter now?” As Sally turned round she saw a sheep dog. “Oh? Ben, it’s you,” she cried. “I’m nearly worried out of my wits. For goodness’ sake do stop here, Ben, and keep guard till master comes back. There’s the bow-legged toppin’d hen wants keeping in her place, and that limping calf ought to be tethered. And Neddy ought to be sent home instead of stamping the fodder about and kicking the new bucket, and—there’s that sailor chap in the kitchen smoking my master’s baccy! Mercy on us! what’s that?” as a band struck up a gay tune. “It’s a travelling circus—no, it isn’t. My word, the whole village is up and our sailor gentleman is dancing a hornpipe! Thank goodness—there’s master coming! Whoever would have thought of things happening like this!”

“What cheer, John!” cried the sailor, extending his hand and running forward to meet his old friend. “How are ye, my hearty? What, don’t you know me, John? My old chum! Why, I’m Sam—surely!”

“It can’t be, but it is!” and the farmer’s voice became husky. “I’ve thought ye dead this many a year. So you’ve actually returned, Sammy!”

“To settle in the old country, and to pitch my tent alongside o’ yours, John.”

“Look here, you sailor man,” cried Sally, “master belongs to me. We run this farm between us, we do, and we want no hornpipy sailor to join us.”

“And where does this band come from?” asked the farmer. The musicians, let me say, were trumpeting and drumming for all they were worth.

“Well, I brought it with me from Jarmouth. Look here, my hearties,” he called out, “change the tune to ‘Auld lang Syne’ and we will all join in the chorus.”

Which everybody did. Even Neddy sat on his haunches and “he-hawed” his loudest, of course, lolling his tongue round as usual, and throwing three-cornered glances in all directions. The limping calf was touched and was suddenly seized with a racing fit; and the chickens, no doubt thinking that the end of the world had come, turned somersaults and fought battles in all directions.

Poor Sally groaned aloud. “Ah! this is the end of everything,” she said. “I’ve cared for, and worked for master for many a year, and now what between the sailor, the band, the chickens, the bees and Neddy—well!”