“Can’t I? You try me.”
“Well, we’re a hand short this morning, and twenty cows to be milked,” said the farmer’s wife. “You can go along to the sheds. I’m quite certain that Tom and Sam will be glad of your help.”
Tom and Sam were exceedingly glad of the help of Peggy Desmond. What wonderful knack was there in those slim little fingers! The most troublesome cows, those who, as a rule, knocked over the pail, were as good and quiet as mice under her gentle manipulations, and what a lot of delicious, frothy milk she got them to yield to her gentle touch! The farmer and his wife regarded her as a perfect treasure.
“I wish we knew who she is. If she is respectable-like we could keep her until the hay harvest and the wheat harvest are over,” said the farmer.
“We could, for sure,” said the farmer’s wife. “Well, anyhow, she has earned her breakfast.”
It was now past six o’clock. The farmer’s wife went into the kitchen. She put a frying-pan on the fire, cut great slices of bacon, broke in about a dozen eggs, and began to fry.
“Come, you want your breakfast,” she said to the girl. “You milked right well, I will say. I never saw a neater touch.”
“To be sure, ma’am, an’ why shouldn’t it be?”
“You must be hungry for your breakfast.”
“Oh there’s no hurry, bless ye, ma’am! Shall I lay the table for ye?”