"But, gentleman, something did happen, and it happened in this wise: You have doubtless, by this, concluded that the cow was a wild cow. The man who sold her to me had not put it precisely that way. He had represented her to me as a cow of mild manners, thoroughly domesticated, of the sweetest possible temper, used to the women folks, playful with children,—in short, a creature of such amiability that she actually longed to be petted. But I had already discovered that her manners were somewhat abrupt, and that either the man did not understand the nature of the cow or I did not understand the man. I was convinced that, if she had ever been domesticated, it had been done by some family every member of which had died in the process, or had suddenly moved out of the country only a short distance ahead of her, and that she had utterly forgotten her early training. Still, I had no doubt but that her amiability was there, although temporarily somewhat latent, and that the influences of a gentle spirit would revive the dormant sensibilities of her nature. 'The sight of a milk-pail,' I said to myself, 'will surely awaken the reminiscences of her early days, and of that sweet home-life which was hers when she yielded at morn and at night her glad contribution to the nourishment of a Christian family.'
"There was on my ranch a servitor of foreign extraction who did my cooking for what he could eat,—Chin Foo by name,—and to him I called to bring me the large tin pail, which served the household—which, like most Texan households in the Tertiary period, so to speak, of their fortunes, was conducted on economic principles—as a washtub, a chip-basket, a water-bucket, and a dinner-gong. It also occurred to me, as I stood looking at the cow and caught the spirit of her expression, so to speak, that, as she had come to stay, was a permanent fixture of the establishment, as it were, Chin Foo might as well do the milking first as last. Moreover, as the Texan from whom I purchased her had assured me that she was a kind of household pet, the children's friend, and took to women folks naturally, the case was a very clear one. For, as Chin Foo had long hair, wore no hat, and dressed in flowing drapery, the cow, unless she was more of a physiologist than I gave her credit for, would be in doubt somewhat as to the sex of the Chinaman; and before she had time to ruminate upon it and reach a dead-sure conclusion, the milking would be over; and I would have scored the first point in the game, if she was a cow of ability, had any trumps, and was up to any tricks, as it were. So I told Chin Foo, as he approached with the pail in his hand, that the cow was a splendid milker, thoroughly domesticated, accustomed to Chinamen, and that he might have the honor of milking her first. I remarked, furthermore, that, as everything about the place was new to her, and she was a little nervous, I would gently attract her attention in front, while he proceeded to extract the delicious fluid. I charged him, in addition, to remember that it was always the best policy to approach a cow of her temperament in a bold and indifferent manner, as if he had milked her all his life, and get down to business at once; and that any hesitation or show of nervousness on his part would tend to make her more nervous.
"I must say that Chin Foo acted in a highly creditable manner, considering he was in a strange land, and, to my certain knowledge, had no money laid by for funeral expenses; for, while I was stirring the dust and flourishing my stick in a desultory manner in front of the cow, to divert her mind, and keep her thoughts from wandering backward too directly, he fluttered boldly up to her, and laid firmly hold of two teats, with the familiarity of an old acquaintance."
At this point of his narration the stranger paused a moment. There was a sort of plaintive look on his face, and he gazed at the plates with an expression in his eyes of sorrowful recollection.
"I cannot say," he resumed, as one who speaks oppressed with a sense of uncertainty, "exactly what did happen, for I never saw the Chinaman again until he alighted. I only know that when he came down he was practically inside the pail, and that he sat in it a moment with a kind of dreamy eastern look on his face, as if he lived on the isle of Patmos and had seen a vision. And when he had crawled out of the pail he went directly into the house, saying, 'The Melican man is dam foolee to try to milkee that cussee!' or words to that effect.
Practically Inside the Pail.
"But I did not agree with him. I reflected that the Chinese are only an imitative race, and wholly lacking in original perception. 'They never invent anything,' I said; 'never study into causes, never get down to principles, as it were. It requires a purely occidental intellect to master the problem before me. This cow has a strong disinclination to be milked. Why? What is the motive of her conduct? If I could only answer that!' All at once it came to me,—came like a flash. The reason was plain. 'This cow is a mother. The maternal instinct in her case is beautifully developed. Her reasoning faculties less so. She has a calf. To her mind, we are trying to rob her beloved offspring of its nourishment. She naturally resents this injustice on our part. Beautiful development of maternity,' I apostrophized, as I looked at the cow in the light of this new revelation. 'Thy instincts are those that sweeten the world, and remind us of the benignity that planned the universe. I will bring thy calf to thee. I will show thee that I am not devoid of the spirit of equity; that I am ready to go shares and play fair, as it were. Thy calf shall take one side of thee. I will take the other, and thy soul will come forth to me in gratitude!'
"I was delighted. I went directly to the pen, and gazed benevolently at the calf. The little imp was blacker, if possible, than its mother. There was that same peculiar look also in its eyes. 'You're all hers!' I joyfully cried, 'you are your mother's own child!' I seized hold of the neck-rope. I opened the pen-door and I went out through that door quicker than a vagrant cat ever got round a corner of a house where a Scotch terrier boards. The calf went under the cow and I struck her, head on. But I had come to stay. I grabbed the pail with one hand and a teat with the other. I tugged it, pulled it, twisted it. Not a drop could I start. A suction pump of twenty horse-power would have found it drier than Sahara, and all the while the calf's mouth, on the other side, was actually running over with milk! In two minutes he looked like a black watermelon. Then the cow, with a kind of back action, suddenly reached out one foot, and when I came to I found myself facing a mulberry tree, with one leg on each side of it.