In a corner below a little shed was the clippers' meal of ale and pies, with two glasses of whisky each, laid by under a white cloth.

Meantime from all sides rose the continual crying of sheep, the intermittent bark of dogs, and the loud broad converse of the men.
Lewis and his friends jumped a fence, and were greeted heartily in the enclosure.

He seemed to know each herd by name or rather nickname, for he had a word for all, and they with all freedom grinned _badinage_ back.
"Where's my stool, Yed ?" he cried.

"Am I not to have a hand in clipping my own sheep ?" An obedient shepherd rose and fetched one of the triangular seats, while Lewis with great ease caught the ewe, pulled her on her back, and proceeded to call for shears.

An old pair was found for him, and with much dexterity he performed the clipping, taking little longer to the business than the expert herd, and giving the shears a professional wipe on the sacking with which he had prudently defended his clothes.
From somewhere in the back two boys came forward--the Tam and Jock of a former day--eager to claim acquaintance.