“They're a heap of bother.”
“I don't think I shall mind the bother.”
“Don't you? Most people do. They're harder to teach than the big ones, ain't they?”
“I think they are easier to teach.”
“Do you? What makes you think they're easier to teach?”
“They understand me better,” replied the man.
The woman had taken down an old glass bowl with a notched glass cover from the top shelf of the cupboard, rinsed it with water, wiped it carefully and set it on the table. In this she had placed a comb of red, mountain honey. She continued to talk.
“I want Martha to go to school. She's a-goin' on nine. I can't spare her very well, but I don't want to keep her back. She saves me a good many steps. She's gone after the cow. She ought to be comin'.”
The woman was busy at the stove.
“I don't see why a cow can't learn somethin', can't learn to come home at night, anyway. Everything else learns to come home at night. Ketch a dog forgittin' it. I 'spose old Bloss has gone as fur as she could git, an' you can't allears hear the bell. But Martha'll find her.”