of sheep shorn and let go, caught and commenced--the occasional savage
oath or passionate gesture, as a sheep kicked and struggled with
perverse delaying obstinacy--the cuts and stabs, with brief decided
tones of Mr Gordon, in repression or command--all told the spectator
that tragic action was introduced into the performance. Indeed, one of
the minor excitements of shearing was then and there transacted. Mr
Gordon had more than once warned a dark sullen-looking man that he did
not approve of his style of shearing. He was temporarily absent, and on
his return found the same man about to let go a sheep whose appearance,
as a shorn wool-bearing quadruped, was painful and discreditable in the
extreme.

"Let your sheep go, my man," said Gordon, in a tone which somehow
arrested the attention of nearly all the shearers, "but don't trouble
yourself to catch another!"

"Why not?" said the delinquent, sulkily.

"You know very well why not!" replied Gordon, walking closely up to
him, and looking straight at him with eyes that began to glitter,
"you've had fair warning. You've not chosen to take it. Now you can
go!"

"I suppose you'll pay a man for the sheep he's shorn?" growled
out the ruffian.

"Not one shilling until after shearing. You can come then if you like,"
answered Gordon, with perfect distinctness.

The cowed bully looked savagely at him; but the tall powerful frame and