was alert with life. The little paddock was crammed with sheep, and
more stood huddling in the pens. Within was the liveliest scene, for
there a dozen herds sat on clipping-stools each with a struggling ewe
between his knees, and the ground beneath him strewn with creamy folds
of fleece. From a thing like a gallows in a corner huge bags were
suspended which were slowly filling. A cauldron of pitch bubbled over a
fire, and the smoke rose blue in the hot hill air. Every minute a
bashful animal was led to be branded with a great E on the left shoulder
and then with awkward stumbling let loose to join her naked
fellow-sufferers. Dogs slept in the sun and wagged their tails in the
rear of the paddock. Small children sat on gates and lent willing feet
to drive the flocks. In a corner below a little shed was the clippers'
meal of ale and pies, with two glasses of whisky each, laid by under a
white cloth. Meantime from all sides rose the continual crying of
sheep, the intermittent bark of dogs, and the loud broad converse of the
men.

Lewis and his friends jumped a fence, and were greeted heartily in the
enclosure. He seemed to know each herd by name or rather nickname, for
he had a word for all, and they with all freedom grinned _badinage_ back.

"Where's my stool, Yed?" he cried. "Am I not to have a hand in clipping
my own sheep?"

An obedient shepherd rose and fetched one of the triangular seats, while
Lewis with great ease caught the ewe, pulled her on her back, and
proceeded to call for shears. An old pair was found for him, and with
much dexterity he performed the clipping, taking little longer to the
business than the expert herd, and giving the shears a professional wipe
on the sacking with which he had prudently defended his clothes.

From somewhere in the back two boys came forward--the Tam and Jock of a
former day--eager to claim acquaintance. Jock was clearly busy, for his
jacket was off and a very ragged shirt was rolled about two stout brown
arms. The "human collie" seemed to be a gentleman of some leisure, for
he was arrayed in what was for him the pink of fashion in dress. The
two immediately lay down on the ground beside Lewis exactly in the
manner of faithful dogs.

The men talked cheerfully, mainly on sheep and prices. Now talk would
touch on neighbours, and there would be the repetition of some tale or
saying. "There was a man in the glen called Rorison. D'ye mind Jock
Rorison, Sandy?" And Sandy would