The sheep, forty in number, are the result of her individual efforts.  Mrs. O’Shaughnessy told her there was more money in raising lambs than in raising chickens, so she quit the chickens as a business and went to some of the big sheep-men and got permission to take the “dogie” lambs, which they are glad to give away.  She had plenty of cows, so she milked cows and fed lambs all day long all last year.  This year she has forty head of nice sheep worth four dollars each, and she doesn’t have to feed them the year round as she would chickens, and the wolves are no worse to kill sheep than they are to kill chickens.  When shearing-time came she went to a sheep-man and told him she would help cook for his men one week if he would have her sheep sheared with his.  She said her work was worth three dollars, that is what one man would get a day shearing, and he could easily shear her sheep in one day.  That is how she got her sheep sheared.  The man had her wool hauled to town with his, sold it for her, and it brought sixty dollars.  She took her money to Mrs. O’Shaughnessy.  She wanted some supplies ordered before she went home, because, as she gravely said, “the rheumatiz would get all the money she had left when she got home,”—­meaning that her grandparents would spend what remained for medicine.

The poor old grandparents read all the time of wonderful cures that different dopes accomplish, and they spend every nickel they can get their hands on for nostrums.  They try everything they read of, and have to buy it by the case,—­horrid patent stuff!  They have rolls of testimonials and believe every word, so they keep on trying and hoping.  When there is any money they each order whatever medicine they want to try.  If Mrs. Edmonson’s doesn’t seem to help her, Grandpa takes it and she takes his,—­that is their idea of economy.  They would spend hours telling you about their different remedies and would offer you spoonful after spoonful of vile-looking liquid, and be mildly grieved when you refused to take it.  Grandma’s hands are so bent and twisted that she can’t sew, so dear old Grandpa tries to do it.

Mrs. O’Shaughnessy told me that she helped out when she could.  Three years ago she made them all a complete outfit, but the “rheumatiz” has been getting all the spare money since then, so there has been nothing to sew.  A peddler sold them a piece of gingham which they made up for Cora Belle.  It was broad pink and white stripes, and they wanted some style to “Cory’s” clothes, so they cut a gored skirt.  But they had no pattern and made the gores by folding a width of the goods biasly and cutting it that way.  It was put together with no regard to matching the stripes, and a bias seam came in the center behind, but they put no stay in the seam and the result was the most outrageous affair imaginable.