The Young Shepherdess
When Sofia’s sheep vanish into the forest, she must journey to rescue them.
In a green valley in the Colombian hillside, a young shepherdess named Sofia waved goodbye to her Mama and Papa.
“Are you sure you can watch the sheep while we’re gone?” her mother said, a touch of worry in her voice. Her father loaded baskets of fleece onto their cart, bound for market.
“Of course I can,” said Sofia. The three sheep—Clara, Carmen, and Camilla—circled around her in the yard, their hooves kicking up little clouds of dust. “They’ll be safe with me.”
“They’ll be safe with me.”
With a rumble of wheels, her parents disappeared down a winding path that led away from their farm.
“Now, listen,” Sofia wagged a finger at the sheep, “Mama and Papa will be back tomorrow evening. Remember, you must all stay together – absolutely no wandering off!”
That night, to be sure to keep a close eye on them, Sofia decided to sleep in the barn instead of inside the farmhouse. After taking care of the regular farm chores, giving the sheep their evening feed and brushing their wool, she settled down beside the sheep on a mound of hay.
The three sheep snuggled together with soft bleats and soon fell asleep. Sofia pulled out her knitting bag. Though the barn’s light was dim, her fingers knew what to do. She quietly finished three wool scarves she had been working on – one for each sheep.
She quietly finished three wool scarves she had been working on – one for each sheep.
Before long she, too, drifted off to sleep.
A dream emerged: her sheep were prancing through the kitchen in their farmhouse, knocking over pots and pans before running outside and disappearing into the night.
Sofia jolted awake. Her sheep were still there, snoozing peacefully. Clara gave a sleepy grunt and the others let out quiet bleats. They all settled back down.
Sofia sighed with relief and fell back asleep.
Sofia sighed with relief and fell back asleep.
At sunrise, when golden light spilled through the slats of the barn, Sofia sat up and reached out for her sheep. But the hay beside her was empty.
She bolted upright and rushed out the barn door.
“Clara?” she called out, worried. “Carmen? Camilla?”
No answer.
Her heart pounding, Sofia ran to the farmhouse – and froze. Pots and plates lay scattered across the kitchen floor – just like in her dream!
She searched the yard. She searched the orchard. The hills. Every field and hiding place in the valley.
Every field and hiding place in the valley.
Nothing.
By noon, she had looked everywhere. The farm girl dragged herself to the barn and collapsed on a pile of hay.
She rubbed her forehead. “My dream showed the future once,” she murmured. “Maybe it can again.”
She lay down, clutched the sheep’s scarfs to her chest and closed her eyes, trying to relax. A few minutes later, another dream emerged.
This time, the sheep were wandering through a shadowy oak forest. Traces of sunlight filtered through the thick trees. Then: a pair of yellow eyes blinked from the shadows. The sheep cried out with high-pitched bleats and bounded deeper in the forest. The scene blurred. She could see only the heads of her three sheep – where was the rest of them? Behind the bobbing heads stood a grove of orange trees covered with fragrant, white flowers.
Behind the bobbing heads stood a grove of orange trees covered with fragrant, white flowers.
Sofia sat up with a gasp.
“I must find that grove of orange trees in the forest, then I will find my sheep!”
She threw supplies into her satchel: bread, water, and the scarves, and set off at once. When she reached the edge of the oak forest, she knew she was on the right track when she spied a line of sheep hoofprints in the mud.
The tracks made a sharp turn into the oak forest, and Sofia followed along. She called and called for her sheep but heard nothing in return but the howling of monkeys and the buzzing of crickets.
The tracks soon disappeared beneath layers of leaves. Sofia pressed ahead, calling for her sheep, listening for any sound of distant bleating, and trying to detect in the breeze the telltale scent of orange trees. Brambles scratched her arms and underfoot, roots snagged her feet. Her voice became hoarse. But no scent. And no sheep.
And no sheep.
Finally, her feet heavy and her chest tight with worry, she caught the faintest scent of orange tree fragrance. Following it, the scent grew slightly stronger at each step. Finally, the scent led her to a grove of orange trees – just like in her dream – and there in front of the trees, bobbing in a deep pit of mud, were her three wayward, mud-covered sheep!
“Clara! Carmen! Camilla!” The sheep joyfully bleated at the sight of their mistress. Clara tried to scramble out of the pit, but she slipped and slid right back down.
What could Sofia do to get them out?
She scanned the forest, looking for ideas. Her eyes fell upon a sturdy cork-oak tree with a low, smooth branch that stretched directly over the mud pit. The branch of the cork-oak tree was low enough that she could reach it. “Hmm,” she mused, “that could work.”
“Hmm,” she mused, “that could work.”
Sofia pulled out the three scarves from her satchel and tied them together to make one long rope. At the end of the rope she tied a loop, and t tossed the ropet over the fork of the branch so the looped end hung directly over the mud pit—making a kind of makeshift pulley.
“Grab it!” she called to her sheep.
Clara surged upward and clamped her teeth onto the loop.
Sofia braced herself. “This will be a heavy lift – I hope it works!” She leaned back, pulling steadily with all her strength. Inch by inch, the beast slowly rose to the surface, the mud sucking at Clara’s hooves. But at last, Clara was high enough to scramble onto solid ground.
One by one, Sofia pulled the other two sheep free, her legs, arms, and nearly every muscle in her body shaking from the effort. But soon the three sheep were all safely on the grass.
But soon the three sheep were all safely on the grass.
She dropped back, panting. Her sheep gathered around her, gratefully smearing their muddy noses on her face and clothes.
“What’s a little more mess at this point?” she laughed.
Sofia stood up and brushed herself off. “Come on!” she told her sheep in a stern voice. “We’re going home.”
“We’re going home.”
This time, the sheep followed close behind her, step by step.
When they reached the farm, the sun was setting. Just then, Sofia spotted her parents’ cart returning up the path.
“Mama! Papa!”
They waved to her as they came closer.
They waved to her as they came closer.
“You kept the sheep safe,” her father said, looking past his daughter to the sheep. “Our young shepherdess.”
Her mother peered closer. “But goodness! How did all of you get so filthy?”
“It’s a long story,” said Sofia.
“Your mother and I found a new customer at market,” said her father. “But it would mean expanding our flock. It’s a big job – a heavy lift. Think you can handle it?”
“A heavy lift?” Sofia looked up. “I can handle it.”
Source:
“The Little Shepherdess” is based on the poem “La Pastorcita,” by Colombian poet Rafael Pombo.
Adapted by World Stories Bank ©2025, all rights reserved.
Footnote:
Rafael Pombo was born in Bogota, the capital of Colombia, in 1833. He spent many years as a representative for Colombia in the United States. He is most well known, though, for his children’s stories and poetry. In 1905, Rafael Pombo was awarded the title of “National Poet of Colombia.” His writing continues to educate and inspire kids today with its rhyme schemes, charming characters, imagination, and valuable lessons.
