It is sundown, a rather later time of closing than usual, but rendered necessary by the possibility of the "grand finale." The younger men troop over to the hut, larking like schoolboys. Abraham Lawson throws a poncho over his broad shoulders, lights his pipe, and strides along, towering above the rest, erect and stately as a guardsman. Considerably more so than you or I, reader, would have been, had we shorn 130 sheep, as he has done to-day. Billy May has shorn 142, and he puts his hand on the five-foot paling fence of the yard and vaults over it like a deer, preparatory to a swim in the creek. At dinner you will see them all with fresh Crimeans and Jerseys, clean, comfortable, and in grand spirits. Next morning is settling-day. The book-keeping departments at Anabanco being severely correct, all is in readiness. Each man's tally or number of sheep shorn has been entered daily to his credit. His private and personal investments at the store have been as duly debited. The shearers, as a corporation, have been charged with the multifarious items of their rather copious mess-bill. This sum total is divided by the number of the shearers, the extract being the amount for which each man is liable. This sum varies in its weekly proportion at different sheds. With an extravagant cook, or cooks, the weekly bill is often alarming. When the men and their functionary study economy it may be kept very reasonably low. The men have been sitting or standing about the office for half-an-hour when Mr Jack Bowles rushes out, and shouts "William May!" That young person, excessively clean, attired in a quiet tweed suit, with his hair cut very correctly short, advances with an air of calm intrepidity, and faces Mr Gordon. Gordon, now seated at a long table, wearing a judicial expression of countenance. "Well, May, here's your account":-- So many sheep, at 1 pound per 100... xxxx pounds Cook, so many weeks................. xxxx pounds Shearing store account.............. xxxx pounds Private store account............... xxxx pounds ---- Total............................... xxxx pounds ---- "Is the tally of your sheep right?" "Oh! I daresay it's all right, Mr Gordon, I made it so and so; about ten less." "Well, well! Ours is correct, no doubt. Now I want to make up a good subscription for the hospital this year. How much will you give? You've done pretty well, I think." "Put me down a pound, sir."