Van Brunt was standing with his pan. The soft tramp of a
multitude of light hoofs in another direction, turned Ellen's
eyes that way, and there were two more single files of sheep
running down the hill from different points in the woodland.
The pretty things came scampering along, seeming in a great
hurry, till they got very near; then the whole multitude came
to a sudden halt, and looked very wistfully and doubtfully
indeed at Mr. Van Brunt, and the strange little figure
standing so still by the fence. They seemed in great doubt,
every sheep of them, whether Mr. Van Brunt were not a traitor,
who had put on a friend's voice, and lured them down there
with some dark evil intent, which he was going to carry out by
means of that same dangerous-looking stranger by the fence.
Ellen almost expected to see them turn about and go as fast as
they had come. But Mr. Van Brunt, gently repeating his call,
went quietly up to the nearest stone, and began to scatter the
salt upon it, full in their view. Doubt was at an end; he had
hung out the white flag; they flocked down to the stones, no
longer at all in fear of double-dealing, and crowded to get at
the salt; the rocks where it was strewn were covered with more
sheep than Ellen would have thought it possible could stand
upon them. They were like pieces of floating ice, heaped up
with snow, or queen-cakes with an immoderately thick frosting.
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