"Somebody's cow has strayed—I wish she belonged to me and could help me with this nutrition job," I said to myself as I rose and ran down under the branches of the gnarled old apple-trees, which sifted down perfumed blow upon my head as I ran. Then I stopped and listened again. Over the old stone wall that separated the orchard from the pasture I heard footsteps and soft panting, also a weak little cow-baby protest of fatigue.
"I'll get over the wall and see if there is any trouble with them," I said and I suited my actions to my words. I suppose in the dark I forgot that cows have horns and that I had never even been introduced to one before, for with the greatest confidence and sympathy I walked up near the large black mass that was the cow mother, with a very small and wavering body pressed close at her side.
"Did you call me, Mother Cow?" I asked softly.
The question was taken from my lips as Pan came out of the darkness behind her and took me into his arms.
"Yes, she called you. I didn't think I'd see you. I was just going to leave her for you and go my way; but trust women for secret communication," he said as my arm slipped around his bare throat.
"Not see me?" I questioned.
"I never wanted to see you again until I came for you, Woman. I didn't think I could stand it—to put you out of my arms again. I can't take you with me to-night. I came miles out of my way to bring her to you, and I've hurried them both cruelly. The calf is only two days old, but you do need her badly to feed the chickens. Milk-fed chickens show a gain of thirty per cent. over others. You can churn and get all the butter you need and feed them the buttermilk."
"Do you suppose I can learn to milk and churn her?" I asked as I shrank a bit closer in his arms from this new responsibility.
"Milk her and churn the milk," laughed Pan as he bent my head forward on his arm, set his teeth in the back of my neck, and shook me like Peckerwood Pup shakes the gray kitten when I'm not looking.
"Will you show me in the morning?"