When he had finished and the fleece lay flat on the platform, very white and clean, Mr. Price let the sheep get up and run out in the barn-yard.
"Ba-a-a—, Ba-a-a!" went the sheep, as she ran out, looking very small and feeling very strange with her heavy coat of wool gone.
Farmer Hill gathered up the wool and carried it to another part of the basement, while John and Mr. Price brought out the next sheep.
When Mr. Price had sheared four sheep, he said, "You might as well bring the big wether next."
"You must lose your wool, Mr. Bell Wether," said Bobby. "We need it to make our clothes."
"I think John had better help you hold him down," said Farmer Hill. "He is a cantankerous old fellow."
So John helped hold him, while Mr. Price sheared him.
Old Bell Wether was a wise old sheep. He knew he could not get away from two men. Besides, he was not sorry to lose the heavy coat which made him so warm in the hot Spring days.
Perhaps he knew that when a sheep squirms and kicks, the shearer may cut off a bit of the skin instead of just taking the wool.
At any rate, he lay very quiet until he was all sheared, and they let him run out into the yard.