eye-pleasing flowers," the sheep "feeding with sober security," and
the young shepherdess herself knitting. Though she is not singing with
her lips, her heart sings softly as she knits, and her hands keep time
to the dream-music.

Early in the morning she led her flock out to the fallow pastures
which make good grazing ground. All day long the sheep have nibbled
the green herbage at their own sweet will, always under the watchful
eye of their gentle guardian. Her hands have been busy all the time.
Like patient Griselda in Chaucer's poem, who did her spinning while
she watched her sheep, "she would not have been idle till she slept."
Ever since she learned at her mother's knee those early lessons in
knitting, she has kept the needles flying. She can knit perfectly well
now while she follows her flock about. The work almost knits itself
while her eyes and thoughts are engaged in other occupations.

The little shepherdess has an assistant too, who shares the
responsibilities of her task. He is a small black dog, "patient and
full of importance and grand in the pride of his instinct."[1] When a
sheep is tempted by an enticing bit of green in the distance to stray
from its companions, the dog quickly bounds after the runaway and
drives it back to the flock. Only the voice of the shepherdess is
needed to send him hither, thither, and yon on such errands.

Now nightfall comes, and it is time to lead the flock home to the
sheepfold. The sheep are gathered into a compact mass, the ram in
their midst. The shepherdess leads the way, and the dog remains at
the rear, "walking from side to side with a lordly air," to allow no
wanderer to escape.