“Altogether,” said Mary Talcott, “we have in the district one hundred and fifty-three cows.”
“I don’t make it that,” said Raymond Simms. “I don’t get but a hundred and thirty-eight.”
“The trouble is,” said Newton Bronson, “that Mary’s counting in the Bailey herd of Shorthorns.”
“Well, they’re cows, ain’t they?” interrogated Mary.
“Not for this census,” said Raymond.
“Why not?” asked Mary. “They’re the prettiest cows in the neighborhood.”
“Scotch Shorthorns,” said Newton, “and run with their calves.”
“Leave them out,” said Jim, “and to-morrow, I want each one to tell in the language class, in three hundred words or less, whether there are enough cows in the district to justify a cooperative creamery, and give the reason. You’ll find articles in the farm papers if you look through the card index. Now, how about the census in the adjoining districts?”
“There are more than two hundred within four miles on the roads leading west,” said a boy.
“My father and I counted up about a hundred beyond us,” said Mary. “But I couldn’t get the exact number.”