Cameron looked a trifle disturbed. Sheep seemed very right and proper things to own when one was 'going on the land,' but it had not yet occurred to him to think to what use he was going to put them.
Bart's observation of his neighbours had been a little keener than this, however.
'We sha'n't get any wool to mention from that handful,' he said. 'I suppose they are for killing. Mrs. Dunks says they use a sheep a week. Her husband kills one every Saturday.'
'Who—who—oh, surely you will not have to kill them, Mr. Cameron!' said Miss Browne, shuddering with horror. 'Surely you will not be expected to kill them for yourself.'
The thought of it turned Cameron sick; it seemed to him he had never quite got over chopping off a fowl's head once for his wife, though it was nine years ago.
Roly gloated over the thought.
'I'll shoot them with my bow and arrow,' he said.
Cameron wiped his brow.
'I suppose one could use a gun to them, eh, Bart?' he said.
But Bart looked doubtful.