"Sally come fresh this morning, Miz Thompson," he said. "Got herself a real fine little bull calf."
Hetty looked at the two pails of milk. "Well, where's the rest of the milk, then?"
"That's Queenie's milk," Barney said. "Sally's is still out on the porch."
"Well bring it in before the sun clabbers it."
"Can't," Barney said.
Hetty swung around and glared at him. "What do you mean, you can't? You suddenly come down with the glanders?"
"No'm, it's just that Sally's milk ain't no good," he replied.
A frown spread over Hetty's face as she hoisted one of the milk pails and began pouring into the can in the sink. "What's wrong with it, Barney? Sally seem sick or something?" she asked.
Barney scratched his head. "I don't rightly know, Miz Thompson. That milk looks all right, or at least, almost all right. It's kinda thin and don't have no foam like you'd expect milk to have. But mostly, it sure don't smell right and it danged well don't taste right.