"Four ewes, to be sure; of what else have we more than one?"
"Where are they?"
"That is what I should like to know. Two went yesterday, but I said nothing about it, as I thought they might be found, or that I hadn't counted aright; but there's two more missing to-day."
"What can have become of them?"
"It's no use asking me. Is it like I should know?"
"But this is most extraordinary. They must have wandered off the saltings, on to the causeway, and so got away."
"That is likely, ain't it," said Abraham. " It is like the ways of sheep, to scatter, and two or three to go off and away from all the flock. I'll believe that when sheep change their nature."
"They must have fallen into a pool and been drowned."
"Then I should find their carcases; but I haven't. Perhaps there has been a spring tide at the wrong time of the year and overflowed and drowned them. That's likely, isn't it?"
"But, Abraham, they must be found."
"Then you must find 'em yourself."
"Where can they be?"
"I've told you it is no use asking me."
"Can they have been stolen?"
"I reckon that is just about it."
"Stolen!" exclaimed Mehalah, her blood flashing to her face and darkening cheek and brow. "Do you mean to tell me that some scoundrel has been here in the night, and carried off four of our ewes?"
Abraham shrugged his shoulders; "Mud tells tales at times."
Mehalah trembled with anger.
"Some boat was here last night, and night afore, and the keel marks remain. I saw them, and I saw footprints of sheep too, near them."
"When?"
"The tide is up, and you can't see. Near the Burnt Hill."
"Abraham, this is not to be borne."
