They soon overtook him and drove him into a corner of the rail fence at the side of the road.

"Now we have you," said Farmer Hill, as he threw the rope over his horns.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Before they could run across the bridge, Old Bell Wether walked up out of the creek and started for home"]

Old Bell Wether had to submit and be led back over the bridge to the sheep-pen.

"You won't do that again, old boy," said John. "I'll be ready for you this time."

The men took him out into the water again. Keeping his head up so that he could breathe, they washed his long wool until it was quite clean.

Then they led him out of the water, into another sheep-pen, which had been built to hold the sheep after they were washed.

After all the sheep had been washed clean and white, they were started home again. When they were part way home, they met another flock of sheep coming down the road.

"Drive ours up next to the fence," said Farmer Hill, "so they will not get mixed with that flock."

So they were driven up by the fence and kept there until the other flock had pa.s.sed on their way to be washed.

Bobby rode with Father in the buggy the rest of the way.

"How do they get the wool off the sheep?" he asked.

"That," said Father, "will be something more for you to see, another time. You won't have to wait many days."

Bobby had a great story to tell Mother and Sue that night.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE SHEEP SHEARING]

V

A few days after the sheep had been washed at the creek, a strange man named Mr. Price came to Cloverfield Farm one morning.

"If you want to see something interesting," said Father to Bobby, "you may come along with us."

They all went down to the Old Red Barn, and Bobby noticed that the flock of sheep had been driven into the bas.e.m.e.nt.

On the bas.e.m.e.nt floor, near the gate which shut the sheep in their pen, they put down a platform of boards, about six feet square.

Then Mr. Price took several strange-looking things out of his bag.

"What is that?" asked Bobby, pointing to one of them.

"That is a pair of shears," said Mr. Price.

"They do not look like my Mother's shears," said Bobby.

"No, they don't," said Mr. Price. "But these are sheep-shears."

"Oh, I know," shouted Bobby, jumping up and down; "you are going to shear the sheep."

"Right, my boy," said the man. "Now keep your eyes open."

"You had better look out for Old Bell Wether," said Bobby. "He'll bunt you over, as he did John down at the creek."

"I've sheared thousands of sheep in my time," said Mr. Price, "and no sheep ever bunted me over yet."

The men brought out one of the smaller sheep through the gate, and tipped her over on her side, on the smooth boards. Mr. Price, bending over the sheep, began shearing off the wool close to the skin.

After he had sheared the wool from the upper side, he turned the sheep over and sheared the other side.

Bobby was watching with all his eyes.

When he had finished and the fleece lay flat on the platform, very white and clean, Mr. Price let the sheep get up and run out in the barn-yard.

"Ba-a-a--, Ba-a-a!" went the sheep, as she ran out, looking very small and feeling very strange with her heavy coat of wool gone.

Farmer Hill gathered up the wool and carried it to another part of the bas.e.m.e.nt, while John and Mr. Price brought out the next sheep.

When Mr. Price had sheared four sheep, he said, "You might as well bring the big wether next."

"You must lose your wool, Mr. Bell Wether," said Bobby. "We need it to make our clothes."

"I think John had better help you hold him down," said Farmer Hill. "He is a cantankerous old fellow."

So John helped hold him, while Mr. Price sheared him.

Old Bell Wether was a wise old sheep. He knew he could not get away from two men. Besides, he was not sorry to lose the heavy coat which made him so warm in the hot Spring days.

Perhaps he knew that when a sheep squirms and kicks, the shearer may cut off a bit of the skin instead of just taking the wool.

At any rate, he lay very quiet until he was all sheared, and they let him run out into the yard.

"Oh, Father, Old Bell Wether didn't make a single bunt," shouted Bobby, bounding off to the place where Mr. Hill was taking care of the fleeces.

"Just see what I am doing," said Father.

Farmer Hill had a queer-looking thing made of boards joined together with hinges. It looked flat when he laid a fleece of wool on it. Then he folded it up until it looked like a box, and the wool was pressed together inside of it.

There were pieces of strong wool twine in grooves on the inside of the box. He tied them around the fleece so as to hold it firmly together.

At last he opened the box and out came a solid fleece of wool, in the shape of a cube about eighteen inches on each side.

"Oh, let me feel of it," said Bobby. He pressed his hands and face against the soft white wool.