The captain waved his hand and turned away, evidently very much put out at the loss, for the mouse-coloured heifer was destined to be the chief ornament of the dairy out at the new farm.
“I can’t help it, Miss Ida,” said German, deprecatingly. “I took all the care of the poor beasts I could. I get all the blame, because I found out she was gone, but I’ve been right in front driving the leading carts nearly all the time; haven’t I, Master ’Temus?”
“Yes, Sam; but are you quite sure she has gone?”
“Now, boys!” shouted the captain; “tea!”
They were soon after seated near the fire, partaking of the evening meal. The last rays of the setting sun were dying out, and the sky was fast changing its orange and ruddy gold for a dark violet and warm grey. Very few words were spoken for some time, and the silence was almost painful, broken as it was only by the sharp crack of some burning stick. Every one glanced at the captain, who sat looking very stern, and Mrs Bedford made a sign to the boys not to say anything, lest he should be more annoyed.
But Aunt Georgie was accustomed to speak whenever she pleased. To her the captain and Uncle Jack were only “the boys,” and Norman, Raphael, and Artemus “the children.” So, after seeing that everybody was well supplied with bread, damper, and cold boiled pork, she suddenly set down the tin mug to which she was trying to accustom herself, after being used to take her tea out of Worcester china, and exclaimed:
“I’m downright vexed about that little cow, Edward. I seemed to know by instinct that she would give very little milk, but that it would be rich as cream, while the butter would be yellow as gold.”
“And now she’s gone, and there’s an end of her,” said the captain shortly.
“Such a pity! With her large soft eyes and short curly horns. Dear me, I am vexed.”
“So am I,” said the captain; “and now say no more about her. It’s a misfortune, but we cannot stop to trouble ourselves about misfortunes.”