'You will notice, Marsden, as I did when I first came here, that the sheep are not so clearly shorn as in the south. They have a rough, almost untidy look; but perhaps the keener climate necessitates it. An old proverb says:-- "The man that is about to clip his sheepe Must pray for two faire dayes and one faire weeke."' 'That needs translation, Dr. Heriot. Chriss looks puzzled.' 'I must annotate Best, then. And here Michael Sowerby is my informant. Don't you see, farmers like a fine day beforehand, that the wool may be dry--the day he clips, and the ensuing week--that the sheep may be hardened, and their wool somewhat grown before a storm comes.' 'They shear earlier in the south,' observed Hugh. He was curiously interested in the whole thing. 'According to Best it used to be here in the middle of June, but it is rarely earlier than the end of June or beginning of July. There is an old saying, and a very quaint one, that you should not clip your sheep till you see the "grasshopper sweat," and it depends on the nature of the season--whether early or late--when this phenomenon appears in the pastures.' 'I see no sort of information comes amiss to Dr. Heriot,' was Hugh's admiring aside to Olive. Olive smiled, and nodded. The conversation had not particularly interested her, but she liked this idle lingering in the shade; the ivied walls and gateway, and the small blue-black cattle, with the peacock strutting in the sun, made up a pretty picture. She followed almost reluctantly, when Dr. Heriot stretched himself, and called to his mare, who was feeding beside them, and then led the way to the sheep-pens. Here there was blazing sunshine again, hoarse voices and laughing, and the incessant bleating of sheep, and all the bustle attendant on a clipping. Mr. Colby came forward to meet them, with warm welcome. He was a tall, erect man, with a pleasant, weatherbeaten face, and a voice with the regular Westmorland accent. Hugh, as the newcomer, was treated with marked attention, and regret was at once manifested that he should only witness such a very poor affair. But Hugh Marsden, who had been bred in towns, thought it a very novel and amusing sight. There were ten or twelve clippers at work, each having his stool or creel, his pair of shears, and a small cord to bind the feet of the victims. The patient creatures lay helplessly under the hands that were so skilfully denuding them of their fleece. Sometimes there was a struggling mass of wool, but in most instances there was no resistance, and it was impossible to help admiring the skill and rapidity of some of the clippers. The flock was penned close at hand; boys caught them when wanted, and brought them to the clippers, received them when shorn, and took them to the markers, who also applied the tar to the wounded.