We never called him anything...
Illustration
We never called him anything but Charlie-Ball -- just as if it was hyphenated. He was a farmer with a hundred sheep or more. His widowed mother kept house and Charlie-Ball kept the farm.
My parents took all four of us small boys out to see Charlie-
Ball and his sheep one summer day. Our brand new Model-T Ford went over the gravel roads west of Harbor Beach, Michigan, perhaps six miles -- and then up the steep driveway into Charlie-
Ball's barnyard with Pa's left foot riding hard on the forward pedal. Our mother took the smaller boys into the house to greet Mrs. Ball and Pa took Dale and me over to the gated fence.
There we stood, Dale and I and our father, looking downhill across that wide open 10-acre field toward the woods. Dozens of sheep were grazing, we noted. But where was Charlie-Ball?
Then, suddenly, out of that far off woods came Charlie-Ball, carrying a small lamb. Charlie-Ball's arms formed a basket, a draping sling. The little lamb was folded inwards and close to Charlie-Ball's chest. He came toward us with that little lamb; and soon we could see it was bleeding from its front legs.
Close to our gate was a box, the sheep's medicine chest. Charlie-Ball took the little lamb over there and opened it up. It held ointments and scissors, a knife and some thread, all this to help Charlie-Ball take care of his little lambs. As we watched, we soon saw that Charlie-Ball's arms were scratched and bleeding from his seeking and rescuing that one little lamb.
-- Hoornstra
My parents took all four of us small boys out to see Charlie-
Ball and his sheep one summer day. Our brand new Model-T Ford went over the gravel roads west of Harbor Beach, Michigan, perhaps six miles -- and then up the steep driveway into Charlie-
Ball's barnyard with Pa's left foot riding hard on the forward pedal. Our mother took the smaller boys into the house to greet Mrs. Ball and Pa took Dale and me over to the gated fence.
There we stood, Dale and I and our father, looking downhill across that wide open 10-acre field toward the woods. Dozens of sheep were grazing, we noted. But where was Charlie-Ball?
Then, suddenly, out of that far off woods came Charlie-Ball, carrying a small lamb. Charlie-Ball's arms formed a basket, a draping sling. The little lamb was folded inwards and close to Charlie-Ball's chest. He came toward us with that little lamb; and soon we could see it was bleeding from its front legs.
Close to our gate was a box, the sheep's medicine chest. Charlie-Ball took the little lamb over there and opened it up. It held ointments and scissors, a knife and some thread, all this to help Charlie-Ball take care of his little lambs. As we watched, we soon saw that Charlie-Ball's arms were scratched and bleeding from his seeking and rescuing that one little lamb.
-- Hoornstra
