This time, thanks to the old settler’s instruction, Phil did better.
“You’ll get the knack with a little practice,” he said. “She’s the easiest milker in the herd, and when you go home you must take her. You’ll find it mighty good to have fresh milk, and Joy’ll show you how to prepare the cream and make butter. No, you can’t buy her. If I can’t lend Winthrop Porter’s boys a cow, it’s a pity.”
For the next two days the boys, still unnerved by their experience, having brought over the blacks from their camp to insure their safety, alternated between watching the old settler cultivate his land and Joy cook and do her churning.
“Reckon I’ll have to go over tonight and see if Petersen will rent me his team to plow,” announced Mr. Jay, at supper.
“With our blacks in the barn, eating their heads off?” exclaimed Ted.
“Know any more ’bout plowing than you did about milking?”
“We can learn, though; we ought to be able to help some.”
“Sure you kin. And I’ll be mighty glad. I don’t like Petersen, but he’s my nearest neighbour, except you, you know. He’ll forget our little trouble when he thinks he’s going to get some of my money.”
“I’m afraid you’ll be sorry we are not farther away,” said Ted. “It will be easier to ride over than to cook a meal.”
“You’ll always find a welcome,” returned Joy, blushing. “Won’t they, dad?” she added to cover her confusion at the fear the boys might think her forward.