"That's my cow," said Mr. Tarbox, seriously; "she's a stunner for givin' milk; she gives a pailful in the mornin', and two pailfuls at night. I'm goin' to make money out of that cow."
"And out of that plow, too, I hope."
"I don't know," said Mr. Tarbox, shaking his head. "These ignorant furriners don't seem to care nothin' about plows. They care more about silks and laces, and sich like."
"Was that all the news you got—about the cow, I mean?"
"No," said Jonathan, chuckling a little, and lowering his voice; "I got a letter from her."
"From her?"
"Yes, from my gal."
"Oh, I understand," said Frank, laughing. "How glad you must be."
"Yes, sir-ee. I feel like a fly in a molasses keg—all over sweetness."
"Then she hasn't forgotten you?"