"Tar here on the brisket!" she called down the board.
A boy came at a run and dabbed the wounds.
"Why didn't you call him yourself?" she then asked sternly of the man, still detaining his sheep.
"What business is that of yours?" he returned, impudently.
"That you will see presently. How many sheep did you shear yesterday?"
"Two hundred and two."
"And the day before?"
"Two hundred and five."
"That will do. It's too much, my man, you can't do it properly. I've had a look at your sheep, and I mean to run your pen. What's more, if you don't intend to go slower and do better, you may throw down your shears this minute!"