The sheep had escaped again. They were scattered all over the hill paddock, nibbling grass and ignoring everyone.

"We need to muster them back through the gate before the storm comes," said Spike, looking at the dark clouds.

Little Thunder counted. "One, two, three, four..." He lost count at twelve. "There are too many!"

"Counting one by one is too slow," said Suzy. "Let's use times tables."

She looked up the hill. "See how they're standing in little groups? Each group has six sheep. And there are seven groups."

"Seven sixes," said Spike. "That's forty-two sheep."

Little Thunder stared. "How did you do that so fast?"

"I learned my tables," said Spike. "Six, twelve, eighteen, twenty-four, thirty, thirty-six, forty-two. It's quicker than counting every single sheep."

Wellington the cow chewed thoughtfully. "When I was young, we practised our tables while we walked to the dam. Every day, a different one."

They began the muster. Spike and Suzy ran wide around the hill, and the sheep trotted down towards the gate in neat rows.

"They're coming through in rows of eight!" called Suzy. "How many rows?"

Little Thunder watched carefully. "One, two, three, four, five rows. Five eights... forty!"

"And two more stragglers," said Spike. "Forty plus two makes forty-two. Everyone's home!"

Suzy swung the gate shut just as the first raindrops fell.

They all huddled under the shed roof, listening to the rain on the iron.

"That was the fastest muster ever," said Little Thunder. "Can we practise more tables tomorrow?"

"Every day," said Wellington. "A different one."

"Then I'll be the fastest musterer on the farm," said Little Thunder.