The night of March 28, 182-, was precisely one of the nights that
were wont to call forth these expressions of commiseration. The
level rain-storm smote walls, slopes, and hedges like the cloth-yard
shafts of Senlac and Crecy. Such sheep and outdoor animals as had
no shelter stood with their buttocks to the wind, while the tails
of little birds trying to roost on some scraggy thorn were blown
inside out like umbrellas. The gable end of the cottage was stained
with wet, and the eaves-droppings flapped against the wall. Yet
never was commiseration for the shepherd more misplaced. For that
cheerful rustic was entertaining a large party in glorification of
the christening of his second girl.
The guests had arrived before the rain began to fall, and they
were all now assembled in the chief or living room of the dwelling.
A glance into the apartment at eight o'clock on this eventful
evening would have resulted in the opinion that it was as cosey and
comfortable a nook as could be wished for in boisterous weather.
The calling of its inhabitant was proclaimed by a number of highly
polished sheep-crooks without stems, that were hung ornamentally
over the fireplace, the curl of each shining crook varying, from
the antiquated type engraved in the patriarchal pictures of old
family Bibles to the most approved fashion of the last local sheep
fair.
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