"Uff, uff," they said. Then they squealed.

"Oh, I know! Those are pigs!" cried Clematis, clapping her hands.

Eight clean, white pigs were grunting and squealing for their
supper.

"Squeal away, piggies," said Mr. Alder. "Supper will be along
soon."

In a moment, he brought from the dairy a bright milk pail. Then they
went down to the gate, and he called:

"Come boss, come boss. Come Betty."

A sleek, plump cow came over the hill, and hurried down to the gate.
It was just the color of a mouse.

"Dear old Betty. Steady now." Betty pushed through, and walked fast
to the barn, where she began to whisper to her calf, and lap it with
her great rough tongue.

As Clematis came up, Betty put her head down, and shook her horns.

"Behave, Betty. You ought to be ashamed," said Mr. Alder. "You see,
she won't let any strangers near her calf."

Then he took some grain and put it in Betty's box, while he tied her
head, and sat down on the stool beside her.

Clematis had never seen a cow milked before, and stood watching the
white streams which filled the foaming pail, as if Mr. Alder were a
fairy. It seemed like magic.

When the pail was full, Mr. Alder poured some into a shiny can, and
took the rest to the dairy.

There he poured it into a red machine, with a big bowl. He turned
the handle, and soon two streams came out.

"What is that for?" Clematis thought this might be some new magic.
Indeed it was magic, almost.

"This is the separator," answered Mr. Alder. "I pour the milk in at
the top, and turn the handle. Then the cream comes out of one spout,
and the skimmed milk from the other."

"Oh, I see," said Clematis, though it really was all like magic to
her.

"Now I guess we are through. Let's go up and see what they have for
supper."

Mr. Alder took the empty pail, and led her back to the house, where
supper was ready and waiting.

The smell of hot biscuit made Clematis feel very hungry, and she was
glad that supper was all ready.

With the biscuit, was golden butter, and apple sauce.

"Do you like warm milk right from the cow?" asked Mrs. Alder.

"Yes'm," replied Clematis, with a nod.

So Mrs. Alder put a little pitcher, with a glass, not much bigger
than a thimble, beside her plate.

She could pour it out herself, as often as she emptied her glass.

"Better leave room for some fresh blueberry pie, and a piece of
cheese," said Mr. Alder.

[Illustration: The little red hen]

Blueberry pie