"Yes, it has been considerable long, I am free to confess," replied Polly, who thought she had had a very hard time keeping house, as was indeed the truth.
"Do you s'pose, Miss Polly, that some morning the sun won't rise any more?"
"O, yes," replied Miss Polly, who was always ready with a hymn:—
| "'God reigns above,—he reigns alone; |
| Systems burn out, and leave His throne.' |
"Why, yes, dear; the world will certainly come to an end one of these days; and then the sun won't rise, of course; there won't be any sun."
And Miss Polly began to hum one of her sorrowful tunes, beating time with the two streams of milk which dripped mournfully into the pail.
"She is afraid this is the end of the world," thought Dotty, with a throbbing heart, and a stifling sensation at the throat; "she don't believe the sun is ever going to rise any more."
The music suddenly ceased.
"These are very poor cows," said Polly, in a reflective tone; "or else they don't give down their milk. I understood you to say, Dotty, that Ruth milked very early."
"If everything's coming to an end, it's no wonder the cows act so," said Dotty, to herself, but she dared not say it aloud.