If I had my way, I'd soon have yer again in the chain gang, and scratch yer back every day with the warder's cat--that's what I'd do with you.
There,"-- to the sheep--"off you go.

Now, then, how much longer am I to wait for that next sheep?
Of all the lazy, idle, skulking hands that ever came about a place you're the worst.

Now, then, don't kill the poor beast, and don't keep me waiting all day for the next." The sheep had made a sudden bound and nearly escaped; but Leather, bending low the while, flung his arm round it, hugged it to his breast, and bore it to Brookes.
"Yah! you clumsy, lazy brute; you're not fit to handle a sheep.

Don't kill it, thick-head.

Hang yer, you're not worth your salt." This was too much for Nic.
"Then why don't you go and fetch the sheep, and let him have a turn with the tar ?" roared the boy, with his face scarlet.
"What ?" cried Brookes, swinging himself round, and dropping the brush.
"Say `sir' when you speak to me," cried Nic.