Kate’s eyes widened. “It’s as good as ‘guess,’ isn’t it?” she retorted. “I’d as lief reckon as guess any time.”
Tom poured his pail of milk into the big strainer and turned to go. “I’ve got another cow to milk before I’m through,” he said.
“I can milk, too,” said Kate, “though I don’t care much about it. Aunt Milly taught me.” And then she added, with a glance down the line of stalls: “But if I were going to do it I shouldn’t want the cows cooped up this way. I should want them out in the barn lot.”
“What, loose in the yard?” repeated Tom. He positively had to stop now. “And have them walking round all the time you’re trying to milk them? Well, I should think that would be a pretty business!”
“Our cow doesn’t walk round when we’re milking her,” said Kate. “Why, a cow naturally wants to be milked when the time comes, and it’s a great deal pleasanter being outdoors. We don’t care so very much about the milking-stool, either,” she added, laughing. “I could do it on a pinch without any.”
“What, squat on your feet, and the cow not even tied up!” ejaculated Tom. The accomplishments of his cousin Kate were certainly out of the ordinary. He looked at her with a growing curiosity, then added loftily: “In this part of the country women don’t milk. We don’t think it’s their business.”
“Well, I’m glad you don’t,” said Kate; “but ’tisn’t such a queer thing for women to do as you seem to think. In most countries women generally do it.”
“I never heard of a woman milking before,” said Tom, doggedly.
Kate’s eyes grew big again. “Why, in stories they always do it,” she cried.
Tom looked impervious to any memory of the sort, and she added, with insistence: “You must have heard of the woman who counted her chickens before they were hatched. She had a pail of milk on her head at the very time, you know; and in the ‘House that Jack Built’ it was the ‘maiden all forlorn who milked the cow with the crumpled horn.’ The man hadn’t a thing to do with it except bothering her.”