CHAPTER SIX.
Ram had thrown himself down, dressed as he was, so that an interview with a bucket of water at the back door, and a good rub with the jack towel, were sufficient to brighten him up for the breakfast waiting, and the boy was not long before he was partaking heartily of the bowl of bread and milk his mother placed before him, his father muttering and grumbling the while to himself.
"I'm sure you needn't be so cross this morning, master," said Mrs Shackle reproachfully.
"If you had as much to fret you as I do, wife, you'd be cross." "Why, you told me this morning that you carried your crop of sea hay without a drop of water on it." Farmer Shackle shut one eye, tightened up his mouth, and looked with his other eye at his wife, which was his idea of laughing.
"Well, then," she said, "what makes you so cross ?" "Cross! Enough to make any man cross.

I shall be ruined--such a set of careless people about me.

Those cows left out on the cliff field all last night, and Tally must have gone over, for I can't see her anywhere." "Oh, poor Tally! My kindest cow," cried Mrs Shackle.
"Yes, I shall set that down to you Ramillies.

That's a flogging for you if she isn't found." "No, no, master; don't be so hard.

The poor boy was out all night looking after signals and--" Bang! Down came the farmer's fist on the table making the plates and basins jump.
"Hay, woman, hay!" he roared.