“How the devil's that? So you were afraid to milk the cows. Come away, and I will keep off the buggaboos.”
“I did milk them—no thanks to your kindness, Mr. Malcolm—but—”
“But what?”
“The ox frightened me, and I fell and spilt all the milk.”
“Whew! Now don't go and tell your husband that it was all my fault; if you had had a little patience, I would have come when you asked me, but I don't choose to be dictated to, and I won't be made a slave by you or any one else.”
“Then why do you stay, sir, where you consider yourself so treated?” said I. “We are all obliged to work to obtain bread; we give you the best share—surely the return we ask for it is but small.”
“You make me feel my obligations to you when you ask me to do any thing; if you left it to my better feelings we should get on better.”
“Perhaps you are right. I will never ask you to do any thing for me in future.”
“Oh, now, that's all mock humility. In spite of the tears in your eyes, you are as angry with me as ever; but don't go to make mischief between me and Moodie. If you'll say nothing about my refusing to go with you, I'll milk the cows for you myself to-night.”
“And can you milk?” said I, with some curiosity.