Barney and the Secret of the French Spies

The first thing to do was stop that ram from trying to run away — he was running because I was struggling and trying to yell. So I sat still. The ram stared at me, still tugging. At last he seemed to calm down. He took a mouthful of grass and munched it, keeping an eye on me. Now to untangle myself without alarming him again. I moved, slowly as I could, red fog creeping in around the edges of my vision, unwinding myself from the rope rather than trying to unwind the rope from my neck, with the ram at the other end. I moved slowly around, keeping hold of the rope hard in case the ram bolted again. One more turn around … and a dip of the head … and … I was free! ‘Baa?’ said the ram. ‘Baa to you too,’ I said, moving out of range and collapsing onto the tussocks. That ram could just stay there till Bill and the others came back and built a pen for him. But he was a fine ram, I remembered as the air got back into my lungs and the shakes eased off. All my sheep were good ones. Mr Johnson and Mr Marsden, the clergyman sent out to help him, were grand judges of

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