These morning prowlers were as cunning as rats in finding their prey, and the only security that a man had of keeping his rations till morning was to eat them up before he went to bed. Their sharp eyes had not failed to notice the signs of unusual plenty about the Deacon's corn-crib, and they gave it earnest attention.
The Deacon had slipped out very quietly, and taken a little turn around the end of the crib, to see that his other provisions had not been disturbed, before he approached the cow. As he did so he saw a figure squatted beside her, and heard a low voice say:
"So, Bos! H'ist, Lady! H'ist up, you measly heifer!"
"Well, I declare to goodness," gasped the Deacon. "How could they've found her out so soon?"
He walked quietly up to the milker, and remarked:
"Purty early in the mornin' to do your milkin'. Didn't used to git up so early when you was at home, did you?"
"Sh—sh—sh!" whispered the other. "Don't speak so loud. You'll wake up that old galoot inside. Keep quiet till I fill my cup, and then I'll let you have a chance. There'll be plenty for you."
"Purty good milker, is she?" inquired the Deacon with interest.
"Naw!" whispered the other. "She's got her bag full, but she won't give down worth a cent."
"Better let me try my hand," said the Deacon. "You've bin away from the farm for so long you've probably lost the knack. I'm a famous milker."