The Happy Valley Mystery

said. “But not one of those little yellow things... ugh!”
    “She won’t have to bother about being the black one’s mother,” Ben said. “That big ewe you bought from Mr. Schulz last year is ready to drop her lamb most anytime. If she does tomorrow, maybe we can get her to mother the black one, too.”
    “I doubt it,” Mr. Gorman said. “We’d better not count on it. There isn’t much we can do. If the black lamb’s own mother wouldn’t claim it, there isn’t much chance the other ewe will.”
    “Not unless her own lamb is born dead,” Ben said. “It happened last year.”
    “I hope it doesn’t happen this year,” Mrs. Gorman said. “It’s a busy time of year,” she said to the Bob-Whites. “I guess any time of year on a farm is a busy time. But I like the spring most of all. Birds nesting, lambs underfoot everywhere—they’re the most playful and lovable little animals in the world—wild flowers popping out,” she went on, “Johnny-jump-ups down by the creek, purple violets, Dutchman’s-breeches, carpets of spring beauties, purple iris in the gully....”
    “Later on,” Mr. Gorman said, “purple vervain and then black-eyed Susans and wild roses....”
    “Iowa is a beautiful place,” Mrs. Gorman said contentedly, almost to herself.
    “We have pretty wild flowers at home, too,” Trixie said.
    “I’m sure you have,” Mrs. Gorman said. “It’s a beautiful country we live in. Even the desert blooms.” Mart, remembering the Christmas the Bob-Whites spent at a dude ranch in Arizona, nodded vigorously. “Jeepers,” he said, “the desert at night! You can’t beat it. Not even out here at Happy Valley Farm, where the stars are so bright.”
    “You can reach up and pick them out of the sky in Arizona,” Diana said, “or you think you can.”
    Jim smiled, remembering. “The little calves out there —the ranch was full of them—are some of the cutest little things in the whole world.”
    “All locoed,” Ben laughed. “They can’t stand up.”
    “I guess,” Mr. Gorman said, “the good Lord intended people to love the young of any animal—even man’s, and he’s the orneriest of all animals—because there never was a young one born of bird or beast that you didn’t first laugh at and then give ’em your heart.
    “Let the dogs in, please,” he told Brian, when he heard them scratching at the door. “Tip and Tag take advantage of us,” he added. “They know were crazy about them, don’t they, Mary?” He pulled gently at the dogs’ ears as the big, awkward things tried to climb up in his lap.
    “We’re softies, I guess,” Mrs. Gorman said. “But these young ones are, too,” she added. “Look at them. Every one has a kitten in his lap. Every one but Jim, and see what he drew!”
    Tag, after vainly trying to crowd himself into the same chair with Jim, finally managed to pull his big bulk up onto Jim’s lap and rest his right front leg around Jim’s shoulder.
    Trixie, watching, sighed happily. She was tired. It had been a hard day—a long day. Tomorrow would be even harder. Tomorrow she meant, somehow, to repay Uncle Andrew for this fabulous week. She intended to go with Jim into Walnut Woods and, if she were lucky, come up with an answer to the problem of the missing sheep. There wasn’t much time left.
     

The Great Rabbit Hut • 13
     
    WHAT ARE WE going to call the orphan?” Diana asked as they crowded into the big kitchen after a brisk run on the horses.
    “Hercules, I’d suggest,” Mart said. “Look at the size of him, will you! He must have grown double during the night.”
    The black lamb, in a child’s playpen in the comer of the kitchen, frisked with the kittens, pawing at them with his nimble feet.
    “Midnight would be a good name, I think,” Honey said. “Every time I’d get to sleep, I’d hear Trixie’s alarm clock buzz and hear her going down the stairs to warn some milk.”
    “Midnight’s a perfect name,” Trixie said and blew a kiss to her little pet.
    “Every two hours Trixie came downstairs to feed him,” Mrs. Gorman said. “Just as faithful as could be. First I tried to stop her, but then I was so tired, I just left it all to her.”
    “He nearly knocked the bottle out of my hand, he was so hungry. I hope Mr. Gorman will have some luck getting Midnight adopted,” Trixie said. “Or has the new lamb been born?”
    “It was born early this morning,” Mrs. Gorman said, “and it didn’t live. Hank tried his best