"I want to buy a flock of sheep," he said. "I have called to see if you
have any to sell."
"Well, perhaps," the old Squire replied, for that was one of the years
when wool was low priced. As he and Morey went out to the west barn
where the sheep were kept, grandmother Ruth looked disturbed.
"You go out and tell your grandfather not to sell those sheep," she said
after a few minutes to Addison and me. "Tell him not to price them."
Addison and I went out, but we arrived too late. Mr. Morey and the old
Squire were standing by the yard bars, looking at the sheep, and as we
came up the stranger said:
"Now, about how much would you take for this flock--you to drive them
over to my place in Lovell?"
Before either Addison or I could pass on grandmother Ruth's admonition,
the old Squire had replied smilingly, "Well, I'd take five dollars a
head for them."
As a matter of fact, the old gentleman had not really intended to sell
the sheep; he had not thought that the man would pay that price for
them, because it was now only the beginning of winter, and the sheep
would have to be fed at the barn for nearly six months.
But to the old Squire's surprise Mr.
Pages:
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368