“What are you going to do with that?” asked Rose. “Are you going to feed it to the pigs?” For she had often seen sour milk taken to the pen of the big and little squealers.
“Give this to the pigs? I guess not!” laughed Farmer Joel. “This is rich, sour cream, and if my sister were here she would churn it into butter. But as she is gone I’m taking it to my neighbor, Mr. Ecker. His wife will churn it for me.”
“Oh, couldn’t I churn?” asked Rose. “I’d love to!”
Farmer Joel set the pail of cream down on a chair and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“Churning is hard work,” he said. “Sometimes it’s a long while before the butter comes. Of course we have a churn, but——”
“Oh, I’ll get Russ to help me and we’ll take turns churning!” cried Rose. “Please let me.”
And Farmer Joel did. He brought up the dasher churn from the cellar. Norah scalded it out with hot water, and when it was cool the sour cream was put in it and the cover made fast. Then Rose took hold of the handle of the dasher, which was like the handle of a broom, and moved it up and down through a hole in the cover, as Farmer Joel told her to.
Chug! Chug! Ker-chug! went the churn dasher, splashing up and down in the thick, yellow cream. Some of it, in little golden balls, came up on the handle of the dasher, above the cover.
“That’s butter,” Rose told Mun Bun and Margy, who were watching her.
Margy put out a chubby finger, got a yellow dab and tasted it.