Part 10 (2/2)

”But you must,” explained the voice.

He turned so quickly that he almost knocked me over. ”Bother and confound them all!” he said. ”Why don't they keep to the time-table?

There's no system in this place. That is what ruins farming-want of system.”

He went on grumbling as he walked. I followed him. Halfway across the field we met the owner of the voice. She was a pleasant-looking la.s.s, not exactly pretty-not the sort of girl one turns to look at in a crowd-yet, having seen her, it was agreeable to continue looking at her.

St. Leonard introduced me to her as his eldest daughter, Janie, and explained to her that behind the study door, if only she would take the trouble to look, she would find a time-table-

”According to which,” replied Miss Janie, with a smile, ”you ought at the present moment to be in the rick-yard, which is just where I want you.”

”What time is it?” he asked, feeling his waistcoat for a watch that appeared not to be there.

”Quarter to eleven,” I told him.

He took his head between his hands. ”Good G.o.d!” he cried, ”you don't say that!”

The new binder, Miss Janie told us, had just arrived. She was anxious her father should see it was in working order before the men went back.

”Otherwise,” so she argued, ”old Wilkins will persist it was all right when he delivered it, and we shall have no remedy.”

We turned towards the house.

”Speaking of the practical,” I said, ”there were three things I came to talk to you about. First and foremost, that cow.”

”Ah, yes, the cow,” said St. Leonard. He turned to his daughter. ”It was Maud, was it not?”

”No,” she answered, ”it was Susie.”

”It is the one,” I said, ”that bellows most all night and three parts of the day. Your boy Hopkins thinks maybe she's fretting.”

”Poor soul!” said St. Leonard. ”We only took her calf away from her-when did we take her calf away from her?” he asked of Janie.

”On Thursday morning,” returned Janie; ”the day we sent her over.”

”They feel it so at first,” said St. Leonard sympathetically.

”It sounds a brutal sentiment,” I said, ”but I was wondering if by any chance you happened to have by you one that didn't feel it quite so much.

I suppose among cows there is no cla.s.s that corresponds to what we term our 'Smart Set'-cows that don't really care for their calves, that are glad to get away from them?”

Miss Janie smiled. When she smiled, you felt you would do much to see her smile again.

”But why not keep it up at your house, in the paddock,” she suggested, ”and have the milk brought down? There is an excellent cowshed, and it is only a mile away.”

It struck me there was sense in this idea. I had not thought of that. I asked St. Leonard what I owed him for the cow. He asked Miss Janie, and she said sixteen pounds. I had been warned that in doing business with farmers it would be necessary always to bargain; but there was that about Miss Janie's tone telling me that when she said sixteen pounds she meant sixteen pounds. I began to see a brighter side to Hubert St. Leonard's career as a farmer.

”Very well,” I said; ”we will regard the cow as settled.”

I made a note: ”Cow, sixteen pounds. Have the cowshed got ready, and buy one of those big cans on wheels.”

”You don't happen to want milk?” I put it to Miss Janie. ”Susie seems to be good for about five gallons a day. I'm afraid if we drink it all ourselves we'll get too fat.”

”At twopence halfpenny a quart, delivered at the house, as much as you like,” replied Miss Janie.

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