Toward these he was creeping, when he started round with a quick jump, for some one had spoken.
“Are you looking for me, sir?”
There stood Leather bending over a sheep, whose fleece he was relieving of a strange growth of burrs and prickly, brambly strands with which the creature was tangled.
“No,” said Nic, as soon as he had recovered from his surprise. “I did not know you were this way. What are you doing?”
“Shepherding, sir,” said the man, with a sad, weary-looking smile, which half fascinated Nic, and he stared at one who seemed to be quite a different man. “The poor brutes get terribly tangled by these wild growths, and sheep are not very wise, sir. They’re poor, helpless sort of creatures. As soon as they are helped out of one difficulty they get into another.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Nic, speaking as if he thoroughly understood sheep; though his knowledge of the popular old useful animal consisted in the facts that when they were young they were lambs, that they grew wool, and that when they were killed they became mutton.
They have so many diseases, too, sir, and so many enemies.
“What, the dingoes?” said Nic.
“Yes, they play the part of the wolf in Europe. It’s astonishing how they have overrun the country.”
Nic stared again, but averted his eyes for fear the man should notice it. This did not seem the Leather he had seen so much of on his way home and since.