"How many times that foot of hers has knocked over a frothing pail for me!" rejoined Chester.
"I don't know why it is, but nobody except me can do anything with her," said Mr. Royden. "The hired men are as afraid of her foot as of a streak of lightning. Sometimes, when I am away, the boys try to milk her; but she thinks she has a perfect right to knock them around as she pleases. I believe it is because they are not gentle; they fool with her, and milk so slow that she gets out of patience; then, when she kicks, they whip her. That's no way, James. You see, I never have any trouble with her. I'd rather milk her than any cow in the yard; I never knew her to kick but once or twi—"
"This is the third time!" said Chester, laughing.
While his father was speaking the cow's foot had made one of its sudden and rapid evolutions. The pail was overturned; the milk was running along the ground, and the animal was running down the lane.
Mr. Royden got up from the stool, and looked at mischief she had done, with a blank expression.
"You didn't get spattered, I hope?" said he.
"No, I think not;" and Chester passed his hand over his clothes.
"Shall I head her off?" asked James.
"No. I had just finished."
"That's just the time she always kicks, father."