"Bobby, you put an ad in that paper you deliver at once," commanded Mrs.
Jenkins. "Some poor people air feelin' bad over the loss of their cow."
It was considered only fair that the cow should pay for her meal. She was overstocked with milk, and graciously and gratefully yielded to Gus's efforts to relieve her of her load. The children were each given a taste of the warm milk, and then the little dairyman started right in for business. The milkman had not yet made his morning rounds, and the neighbors were so anxious to cross-examine Gus that they were more than willing to patronize him. Excitement prevailed when it was learned that the Jenkins family had a cow, and the lad's ingenuity in dodging questions was severely taxed. He avoided direct replies, but finally admitted that it was "one they was keepin' fer some folks."
A week went by, with no claim filed for the animal that had come so mysteriously and seemed so perfectly at home. Gus established a permanent milk route in the immediate neighborhood, and with his ability once more to "bring in" came the restoration of his self-respect.
"It's funny we don't git no answer to that ad," mused Mrs. Jenkins perplexedly. "How many times did you run it, Bobby?"
For a moment silence, deep, profound, and charged with expectancy prevailed. Then like a bomb came Bobby's reply:
"I ain't put it in at all."
Everybody was vociferous in condemnation, but Bobby, unabashed, held his ground, and logically defended his action.
"I got the news-agent to look in the 'losts' every night, and thar want nothin' about no cow. 'Twas up to them as lost it to advertise instead of us. If they didn't want her bad enough to run an ad, they couldn't hev missed her very much."
"That's so," agreed the Boarder, convinced by Bobby's able argument.
"Most likely she doesn't belong to any one," was Amarilly's theory. "She just came to stay a while, and then she'll go away again."