"Don't you talk that way, Charlotte. It isn't lucky for girls to talk of
wrong and sorrow. Talking of things bespeaks them. There's always _them_
that hear; _them_ that we don't see. And everybody pulls flowers,
dearie."

"I don't. If I pull a rose, I always believe every other rose on that
tree is sad about it. They may be in families, Ducie, who can tell? And
the little roses may be like the little children, and very dear to the
grown roses."

"Why, what fancies! Let us go into the yard, and see the shearing.
You've made me feel as if I'd never like to pull a posy again. You
shouldn't say such things, indeed you shouldn't: you've given me quite a
turn, I'm sure."

As Ducie talked, they went through the back-door into a large yard
walled in from the hillside, and having in it three grand old sycamores.
One of these was at the top of the enclosure, and a circle of green
shadow like a tent was around it. In this shadow the squire and the
statesman were sitting. Their heads were uncovered, their long clay
pipes in their hands; and, with a placid complacency, they were watching
the score of busy men before them. Many had come long distances to try
their skill against each other; for the shearings at Latrigg's were a
pastoral game, at which it was a local honor to be the winner. There the
young statesman who could shear his six score a day found others of a
like capacity, and it was Greek against Greek at Up-Hill shearing that
afternoon.

"I had two thousand sheep to get over," said Latrigg, "but they'll be