"They can't, neither," protested Jeems, under his breath.
"Can't a single one of you brought-on women milk a cow?" inquired Fult, looking in astonishment around the circle.
One after another, Amy, the nurse, the kindergartner, the cooking teacher, the singing gal, admitted her ignorance. None had ever in her life tried to milk.
Jeems's jaw was now permanently dropped, his eyes stared with amazed incredulity.
"And even if some of them could milk," said Virginia, with a note of decision in her soft voice, "I shouldn't feel that I could permit them to do it. It's setting too bad an example. The thought of the women of this country doing all the milking shocks me inexpressibly, and one of the principal things I hope to teach them is that milking is not a woman's job, and should be done always and entirely by the men."
Jeems's countenance registered complete horror.
At this instant, Isabel, the new arrival, spoke up. "The cow will have to be milked to-night by somebody," she said; "and though I never milked in my life, and do not approve of women milking, still I'd be glad to try this time, if you say so, Cousin Amy, and Miss Virginia. Of course, I live on a stock-farm,—papa has always raised thoroughbred horses and cattle,—and I've seen cows milked by the negro men thousands of times, and it does seem that I ought to be able to do it myself. If you'll give me a bucket, I'll be glad to try."
Virginia shook her head. "I don't consider it wise," she said; "it's setting too bad a precedent."
"I believe I'd let her do it just this once, as it's an emergency," suggested Amy, in her quiet way.
"Well, maybe for just this once," Virginia grudgingly consented.