cattle. Nay, we linger a minute or two, for there is something
companionable there. Then we shut them in, in the dark, and cross the
well-cleared roadway to the shed, and so home again. Certainly Mrs.
Empson's kerosene lamp is in her window. That must be her light which
gives a little halo in that direction in the falling snow. That looks
like society.

And this time Huldah undresses the baby, puts on her yellow flannel
night-gown,--makes the whole as long as it may be,--and then, still
making believe be jolly, lights another lamp, eats her own supper,
clears it away, and cuts into the new Harper which John had brought up
to her the day before.

But the Harper is dull reading to her, though generally so attractive.
And when her Plymouth-Hollow clock consents to strike eight at last,
Huldah, who has stinted herself to read till eight, gladly puts down the
"Travels in Arizona," which seem to her as much like the "Travels in
Peru," of the month before, as those had seemed like the "Travels in
Chinchilla." Rubber boots again,--lantern again,--sack and hood again.
The men will be in no case for milking when they come. So Huldah brings
together their pails,--takes her shovel once more and her lantern,--digs
out the barn drift again, and goes over to milk little Carry and big
Fanchon. For, though the milking of a hundred cows passes under those
roofs and out again every day, Huldah is far too conservative to abandon
the custom which she inherits from some Thorfinn or some Elfrida, and
her husband is well pleased to humor her in keeping in that barn always,
at least two of the choicest three-quarter blood cows that he can
choose, for the family supply. Only, in general, he or Reuben milks
them; as duties are divided there, this is not Huldah's share. But on
this eve of St. Spiridion the gentle creatures were glad when she came
in; and in two journeys back and forth Huldah had carried her
well-filled pails into her dairy. This helped along the hour, and just
after nine o'clock struck, she could hear the cheers of the men at last.
She ran out again with the ready lighted lantern to the shed-door,--in
an instant had on her boots and sack and hood, had crossed to the barn,
and slid open the great barn door,--and stood there with her
light,--another Hero for another Leander to buffet towards, through the
snow. A sight to see were the two men, to be sure! And a story, indeed,
they had to tell! On their different beats they had fough