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.

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 basement.

On the basement 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 basement, 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