e fleeces were also
washed in many great bowls of soap and water.

"Here again we must exercise great care that the water is clean and the
soap pure, or the wool will not dye perfectly. We use a kind of potash
soap which we are sure is of the best make. Another thing which renders
the scouring of wool difficult is that we must not curl or snarl it
while we are washing it."

"I don't see how you can help it," Donald said.

"We can if we take proper care," returned the bookkeeper.

"And what is this other machine for?" inquired Thornton, pointing to one
at the end of the room.

[Illustration: "WHAT IS THIS OTHER MACHINE?"]

"That machine is picking the wool apart so that the air can get through
it and help it to dry. After it is picked up light and fluffy we pass
it through these heavy rollers, which are like wringers and which
squeeze out the remaining moisture. Yet during all these processes we
must always be careful not to snarl the wool. See, here is where it
comes out white and clean, ready to go to the dyeing room."

Donald regarded the snowy fleeces with wonder.

"You would never dream it could be the same wool!" he said. "Isn't it
beautiful? It is not much the way it looks when it leaves the ranch, is
it, Thornton?"

"I should say not," agreed the Westerner emphatically. "The sheep ought
to see how handsome their coats are."

"So they should!" answered the young bookkeeper. "You have been on a
ranch then?"

"We have just come from one," Donald answered.

"Have you, indeed! It is a free life--not much like being shut up inside
brick walls."

"You have been West yourself, perhaps," ventured Thornton.

"Yes, years ago--when I was a boy; but not recently."

"Ah, you should see the sheep country now!" Thornton went on. "It is
much improved, I reckon, since you were there."

"I imagine so," the young guide answered with a wistful smile. "It is so
long since I have had a breath of real air that I have almost forgotten
how it would seem."

"If you are wanting fresh air go out on the ranges and fill your lungs.
You will find plenty there," declared the ranchman.

"That is just what they are trying to make me do," the young man
replied, "I have not been very well this year and Mr. Munger thinks the
confinement in the mill is telling on me. He wants me to go West for a
vacation."

"And should you like to?" questioned Donald.

The man did not answer; instead he said:

"Suppose we go on. We must not