Frank ran for his hat with alacrity. This seemed like beginning
in earnest. He accompanied his father to the barn, and looked
with new interest at the four cows constituting his father's
stock.

"I think we will begin with this one," said his father, pointing
to a red-and-white heifer. "She is better-natured than the
others, and, as I dare say your fingers will bungle a little at
first, that is a point to be considered."

If any of my boy readers has ever undertaken the task of milking
for the first time, he will appreciate Frank's difficulties. When
he had seen his father milking, it seemed to him extremely easy.
The milk poured out in rich streams, almost without an effort.
But under his inexperienced fingers none came. He tugged away
manfully, but with no result.

"I guess the cow's dry," said he at last, looking up in his
father's face.

Mr. Frost in reply drew out a copious stream.

"I did the same as you," said Frank, mystified, "and none came."

"You didn't take hold right," said his father, "and you pressed
at the wrong time. Let me show you."

Before the first lesson was over Frank had advanced a little in
the art of milking, and it may as well be said here that in the