Page:Letters from an Oregon Ranch.djvu/85

 “that she had not known Cicero, and talked with him in his retirement at Tusculum, beautiful Tusculum.” Rather than risk the revival of this Arcadian dream, I pretended to believe that Tom could milk.

After an absence of about an hour he came in, and from where I stood I could see nothing in the pail.

“Haven’t you milked?”

“Sure!” he answered, waving the pail before me.

“Good gracious! Is that all?”

“Of course. How much did you expect?”

“Well, I should think two cows ought to give more than a pint of milk.”

“No; this is just about right when the calves are with them.”

In a day or two stalls were made for those voracious calves, and they were put on half rations. Then I ventured to remark, “Now you will get milk galore.”

“Well, yes; I ought to get a little more.” The increase, however, was scarcely noticeable, which he explained by saying the cows wouldn’t “give down,”—“they never do when first separated from their calves.” I believed this to be a bit of suddenly inspired fiction to cover his own shortcomings, but managed to hold my peace. I kept hoping and waiting for several days, and then one morning when he appeared with the usual quart, I quite forgot myself, and blazed forth with, “Tom Graham, I don’t believe you know how to milk!”

You should have seen his look of indignant surprise!