“Good father,” said Clutch, taking courage, “I am the closest shearer in all the plain country; you would not find enough wool to make a thread on a sheep when I have done with it.”
“You are the man for my business,” said the old shepherd. “When the moon rises, I will call the flock you have to shear.”
The sun went down and the moon rose, and all the snow-white sheep laid themselves down behind him. Then up the hills came a troop of shaggy wolves, with hair so long that their eyes could scarcely be seen. Clutch would have fled for fear, but the wolves stopped, and the old man said:
“Rise and shear—this flock of mine have too much wool on them.”
Clutch had never shorn wolves before, yet he went forward bravely; but the first of the wolves showed its teeth, and all the rest raised such a howl that Clutch was glad to throw down his shears and run behind the old man for safety.
“Good father,” cried he, “I will shear sheep, but not wolves!”
“They must be shorn,” said the old man, “or you go back to the plains, and them after you; but whichever of you can shear them will get the whole flock.”
On hearing this, Kind caught up the shears Clutch had thrown away in his fright, and went boldly up to the nearest wolf. To his great surprise, the wild creature seemed to know him, and stood quietly to be shorn. Kind clipped neatly, but not too closely, and when he had done with one, another came forward, till the whole flock were shorn. Then the man said:
“You have done well; take the wool and the flock for your wages, return with them to the plain, and take this brother of yours for a boy to keep them.”
Kind did not much like keeping wolves, but before he could answer they had all changed into the very sheep which had strayed away, and the hair he had cut off was now a heap of fine and soft wool.