George was proud of his bargain, and said, “That is a good thing for you and me, Susan, please God.”
Now the next morning Abner came in and said to George, “I don't like some of your new lot—the last that are marked with a red V.”
“Why, what is wrong about them?”
“Come and see.”
He found more than one of the new sheep rubbing themselves angrily against the pen, and sometimes among one another.
“Oh dear!” said George, “I have prayed against this on my knees every night of my life, and it is come upon me at last. Sharpen your knife, Abner.”
“What! must they all—”
“All the new lot. Call Jacky, he will help you; he likes to see blood. I can't abide it. One hundred and fifty sheep; eighteen-pennorth of wool, and eighteen-pennorth of fat when we fling 'em into the pot—that is all that is left to me of yesterday's deal.”
Jacky was called.
“Now, Jacky,” said George, “these sheep have got the scab of the country; if they get to my flock and taint it I am a beggar from that moment. These sheep are sure to die, so Abner and you are to kill them. He will show you how. I can't look on and see their blood and my means spilled like water. Susan, this is a black day for us!”