d Euphemia said it would be better to have a common cow
than to do that.

Great was our inward satisfaction when the cow, our OWN cow, walked
slowly and solemnly into our yard and began to crop the clover on our
little lawn. Pomona and I gently drove her to the barn, while Euphemia
endeavored to quiet the violent demonstrations of the dog (fortunately
chained) by assuring him that this was OUR cow and that she was to live
here, and that he was to take care of her and never bark at her. All
this and much more, delivered in the earnest and confidential tone in
which ladies talk to infants and dumb animals, made the dog think that
he was to be let loose to kill the cow, and he bounded and leaped with
delight, tugging at his chain so violently that Euphemia became a little
frightened and left him. This dog had been named Lord Edward, at the
earnest solicitation of Pomona, and he was becoming somewhat reconciled
to his life with us. He allowed me to unchain him at night and I could
generally chain him up in the morning without trouble if I had a good
big plate of food with which to tempt him into the shed.

Before supper we all went down to the barn to see the milking. Pomona,
who knew all about such things, having been on a farm in her first
youth, was to be the milkmaid. But when she began operations, she did no
more than begin. Milk as industriously as she might, she got no milk.

"This is a queer cow," said Pomona.

"Are you sure that you know how to milk?" asked Euphemia anxiously.

"Can I milk?" said Pomona. "Why, of course, ma'am. I've seen 'em milk
hundreds of times."

"But you never milked, yourself?" I remarked.

"No, sir, but I know just how it's done."

That might be, but she couldn't do it, and at last we had to give up the
matter in despair, and leave the poor cow until morning, when Pomona was
to go for a man who occasionally worked on the place, and engage him to
come and milk for us.

That night as we were going to bed I looked out of the window at the
barn which contained the cow, and was astonished to see that there was a
light inside of the building.

"What!" I exclaimed. "Can't we be left in peaceful possession of a cow
for a single night?" And, taking my revolver, I hurried down-stairs and
out-of-doors, forgetting my hat in my haste. Euphemia screamed after me
to be careful and keep the pistol pointed away from me.

I whistled for the dog as I went out, but to my surprise he did not
answer.