"Oh, Father, Old Bell Wether didn't make a single bunt," shouted Bobby, bounding off to the place where Mr. Hill was taking care of the fleeces.
"Just see what I am doing," said Father.
Farmer Hill had a queer-looking thing made of boards joined together with hinges. It looked flat when he laid a fleece of wool on it. Then he folded it up until it looked like a box, and the wool was pressed together inside of it.
There were pieces of strong wool twine in grooves on the inside of the box. He tied them around the fleece so as to hold it firmly together.
At last he opened the box and out came a solid fleece of wool, in the shape of a cube about eighteen inches on each side.
"Oh, let me feel of it," said Bobby. He pressed his hands and face against the soft white wool.
"How much do you guess it weighs?" asked Mr. Hill, as he put it on the scales.
"Fifty pounds," said Bobby.
"Too much. Eight and a half," said Father, as he put the number down in a book.
"How do they make the wool into clothes?" asked Bobby.