The sheep had had a strange experience that morning, for the farmer
had taken them down to the brook and washed them, and then he tied
their legs together and laid them on the grass and clipped all the
heavy, soft wool from their bodies with a great pair of shears.
The sheep did not like this very well, for every once in a while the
shears would pull the wool and hurt them; and when they were sheared
they felt very strange, for it was almost as if someone took off all
your clothes and let you run around naked. None of them were in a very
good temper this morning, although the sun shone so warmly and the
grass was so sweet, and as they watched the farmer and his man carry
their wool up to the house in great bags, the old ram said, crossly,
"I hope they are satisfied, now that they have stolen from us all our
soft, warm fleece."
"What are they going to do with it?" asked one of the sheep.
"Oh, they will spin it into threads and make coats for the men and
dresses for the women. For men are such strange creatures that no wool
grows on them at all, and that is why they selfishly rob us of our
fleece that they may cover their own skinny bodies!"
"It must be horrid to be a man," said the Black Sheep, "and not to
have any wool grow on you at all. I 'm sorry for that little boy that
lives in the lane, for he will never be able to keep warm unless we
give him some of our wool.
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