A few days after the sheep had been washed at the creek, a strange man named Mr. Price came to Cloverfield Farm one morning.

"If you want to see something interesting," said Father to Bobby, "you may come along with us."

They all went down to the Old Red Barn, and Bobby noticed that the flock of sheep had been driven into the basement.

On the basement floor, near the gate which shut the sheep in their pen, they put down a platform of boards, about six feet square.

Then Mr. Price took several strange-looking things out of his bag.

"What is that?" asked Bobby, pointing to one of them.

"That is a pair of shears," said Mr. Price.

"They do not look like my Mother's shears," said Bobby.

"No, they don't," said Mr. Price. "But these are sheep-shears."

"Oh, I know," shouted Bobby, jumping up and down; "you are going to shear the sheep."

"Right, my boy," said the man. "Now keep your eyes open."

"You had better look out for Old Bell Wether," said Bobby. "He'll bunt you over, as he did John down at the creek."

"I've sheared thousands of sheep in my time," said Mr. Price, "and no sheep ever bunted me over yet."

The men brought out one of the smaller sheep through the gate, and tipped her over on her side, on the smooth boards. Mr. Price, bending over the sheep, began shearing off the wool close to the skin.

After he had sheared the wool from the upper side, he turned the sheep over and sheared the other side.

Bobby was watching with all his eyes.

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.

"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.

"It is first spun into yarn," said Father. "Do you remember the old spinning wheel we have up in the attic?"

"Oh, yes," said Bobby. "That is what I turn my buzz-saw with."

"Well," said Father, "your grandmother used that wheel to spin yarn from wool like this."

"And then they knit stockings from the yarn," said Bobby.

"Yes," said Father; "but my grandmother used to weave the yarn into cloth on a loom. And she made the cloth into clothes for her children to wear."

"I wish Mother would spin yarn and make clothes," said Bobby.

"We find it cheaper to sell the wool and buy our clothes," said Father.

"And perhaps Mother has enough to do," said Bobby.

Then they went back to get another fleece.

When the sheep were all sheared, Rover drove them down the long lane to their pasture.

And it was not long before the whole flock were once more nibbling grass in the meadow.