He had taken it to the cottage wrapped in his jacket and he had let it lie near the fire and had fed it with warm milk.

It was a soft thing with a darling silly baby face and legs rather long for its body.
Dickon had carried it over the moor in his arms and its feeding bottle was in his pocket with a squirrel, and when Mary had sat under a tree with its limp warmness huddled on her lap she had felt as if she were too full of strange joy to speak.

A lamb--a lamb! A living lamb who lay on your lap like a baby! She was describing it with great joy and Colin was listening and drawing in long breaths of air when the nurse entered.

She started a little at the sight of the open window.

She had sat stifling in the room many a warm day because her patient was sure that open windows gave people cold.
"Are you sure you are not chilly, Master Colin ?" she inquired.
"No," was the answer.