But at the old Squire's we usually kept a flock of eighty or a hundred.

They often brought us no real profit, but grandmother Ruth was an old-fashioned housewife who would have felt herself bereaved if she had had no woolen yarn for socks and bed blankets.
The sheep were already at the barn for the winter; it was the 12th of December, though as yet we had had no snow that remained long on the ground.

We were cutting firewood out in the lot that day and came in at noon with good appetites, for the air was sharp.
While we sat at table a stranger drove up.

He said that his name was Morey, and that he was stocking a farm which he had recently bought in the town of Lovell, nineteen or twenty miles west of our place.
"I want to buy a flock of sheep," he said.

"I have called to see if you have any to sell." "Well, perhaps," the old Squire replied, for that was one of the years when wool was low priced.