The little red cow was frightfully jealous of her. And she called the Muley Cow "an old humbug."
"You said you wouldn't let them do it," the little red cow spluttered. "And here you are, with the honor of being first!"
"And you—" the Muley Cow retorted—"you said you were glad the milking machine had come. But you certainly didn't act pleased when they offered to use it on you.... Speaking of humbugs, I should say you were one yourself."
For once the little red cow had nothing to say. The herd agreed that it was the first dispute in which she hadn't had the final word. And to their surprise, ever afterward the little red cow was meek and mild. She even let Farmer Green milk her with the milking machine. And there was only one thing that ever vexed her. She never could bear to hear the word humbug.
Somehow the whole herd became gentler. At last Farmer Green announced proudly, right in their hearing, that they were giving more milk.
"It's the milking machine," he told the hired man. "The cows like it."
But the Muley Cow knew better than that. She was too polite to say as much to Farmer Green. She wouldn't dream of disputing what he said, though she knew well enough that he had not guessed the secret. Being only a man, he had not noticed how fashionable the cows had become. And since no cow can be a fine, fashionable dame if she is rude, noisy and quarrelsome, they simply had to be on their best behavior all the time.
And they were especially particular about two matters. They ate—neatly—every bit of fodder that was set before them, and gave all the milk they could in return for it.
THE END