A shining bucket was produced, and Isabel stepped toward the heifer. Jeems's face was once more transformed, irradiated.
"Now you hold her," said Isabel to Fult. "Not that I'm a bit afraid. I can ride any horse I ever saw; but I'm not so used to cows."
She approached carefully, spoke to the heifer, rubbed down her flank, and at last gently grasped a teat. This she squeezed periodically and persistently for a long while. Not a drop of milk appeared.
"Why, there's something the matter with this cow," she said at last. "I believe she's a dry one."
"No, granny said she was giving three straight gallons a day right along," said Fult; "and to not fail to milk her a single time."
Isabel tried another teat, then conscientiously made the rounds of all.
"Maybe she's just too excited to have any milk to-day," said Virginia. "I've heard that cows are extremely nervous creatures."
"Yes, that must be it," said Isabel. At last she rose, reluctant to give up, but forced to admit that she could do nothing.
Jeems's expression was now one of utter bewilderment. But he was ready to accept the explanation offered—a cow-brute was equal to anything.
A small boy of eleven or twelve, who had been standing near all the time, digging his toes into the earth, spoke up laconically.