Harriet thought it was a good thing that they’d gotten sheep in order to collect wool and not to make lamb chops—Ophelia’s soft heart would not have allowed for such a thing. Within two weeks of purchasing the flock, Ophelia had named them all and then, to make matters worse, had insisted upon tying ribbons around their ears.

Fortunately, Ophelia had ceased this unworthy practice when she realized that the other sheep were not only unimpressed with such vivid decoration, but thought of the ribbons as tasty treats. She turned to her sister. “Sophia, sheep can’t help how they smell, but you…” She sniffed the air, then scrunched her pert nose. “What is that horrid odor? You smell like Grandmother Elbert, all musty and old and—”

“What?” Sophia’s cheeks reddened. “I don’t smell like Grandma Elbert! It’s the eau de cologne Mother got me last Christmas, and it is very expensive.”

“I don’t know what it cost, but if it was more than a pence, she was sadly cheated.”

“Oh!” Sophia said, twisting in her seat to glare at her younger sister. “At least I don’t smell like a sheep, unlike some people I could name who spend all their spare time lingering in the barn as if they were a resident!”

Ophelia’s chin jutted, her brown eyes flashing behind the round glass of her spectacles. “Just what do you mean by that?”

Harriet stifled a sigh. There was only one thing worse than driving a smelly hay cart to market, and that was driving a smelly hay cart filled with even smellier sheep, a large damp-scented dog, and two bickering sisters. “Stop it, the both of you! You’re upsetting the sheep.”

“What do the sheep matter?” Sophia asked, momentarily distracted from irking Ophelia.

“They matter a lot, and you know it. I want our sheep to look like the best, most pleasant-natured sheep on earth.” Anything to get a good price. God knew they needed it.

Sophia looked over her shoulder and regarded the sheep with a dubious air. “I don’t know how you could tell if they were upset. They all look the same to me. Very woolly and…” She tilted her head. “Perhaps they do look as if they have a mood. But it’s not a good one.”

“Nonsense,” Ophelia said stoutly. “They’re happy sheep. You can tell.”

“How?” Sophia demanded.

Ophelia regarded the ewes for a moment, then suddenly broke into a huge grin. “Maybe you can tell they’re happy sheep because they don’t feel baaaaad.”

Harriet winced as the other two giggled uncontrollably. “Ophelia, between you and Derrick, I’ve had more than I can take.” Derrick was their younger brother, and at age sixteen bid fair to become the wittiest of the Ward family, a high honor indeed.

Sophia adjusted the pretty blue ribbons fastened to her old bonnet. “I’m sorry, Harriet. I shouldn’t laugh, but Ophelia does that so well.”

Ophelia grinned, twin dimples in her round cheeks. “I do, don’t I? Sorry I made such a baaaaaad joke.”