As he and Morey went out to the west barn where the sheep were kept, grandmother Ruth looked disturbed.
"You go out and tell your grandfather not to sell those sheep," she said after a few minutes to Addison and me.

"Tell him not to price them." Addison and I went out, but we arrived too late.

Mr.Morey and the old Squire were standing by the yard bars, looking at the sheep, and as we came up the stranger said: "Now, about how much would you take for this flock--you to drive them over to my place in Lovell ?" Before either Addison or I could pass on grandmother Ruth's admonition, the old Squire had replied smilingly, "Well, I'd take five dollars a head for them." As a matter of fact, the old gentleman had not really intended to sell the sheep; he had not thought that the man would pay that price for them, because it was now only the beginning of winter, and the sheep would have to be fed at the barn for nearly six months.
But to the old Squire's surprise Mr.Morey, with as little ado as if he were buying a pair of shoes, said, "Very well.

I will take them." Drawing out his pocketbook, he handed the old Squire ten new fifty-dollar bills and asked whether we could conveniently drive the sheep over to his farm on the following day.

In fact, before the old Squire had more than counted the money, Mr.Morey had said good-day and had driven off.
Just what grandmother Ruth said when the old gentleman went in to put the bills away in his desk, we boys never knew; but for a long time thereafter the sale of the sheep was a sore subject at the old farm.
The transaction was not yet complete, however, for we still had to deliver the sheep to their new owner.