"That so?" replied the man. "Where's the milk?"

The woman looked around a little. "Reckon the dogs or the
young Uns must 'a' swallered it. 'Tain't in sight, nohow."

"Oh, we can milk 'er again!" exclaimed the man. "Old Spot
sometimes comes down heavier on the second or third milking than
she does on the first."

He took a gourd from a shelf, and told us to "come on;" and
started out. He wore a big felt hat, but no coat, and he was
barefooted. Just outside the door stood a bedstead and two or
three chairs. "We move 'em out in the daytime to make more
room," explained the man. The rain was still pouring down. The
man took our lantern and began looking for the cow. He soon found
her, and while I held the lantern, and Ollie our jug, he went
down on his knees beside the cow and began to milk with one hand,
holding the gourd in the other. The cow stood perfectly still, as
if it was no new thing to be milked the second time. We had on
rubber coats, but the man was without protection, and as he sat
very near the cow a considerable stream ran off of her hip-bone
and down the back of his neck. When the gourd was full he poured
it in our jug, and at my offering to pay for it he was almost
insulted. "Not a cent, not a cent!" he exclaimed. "Al'ays glad to
'commodate a neighbor. Good-night; coming down in the morning to
swap hosses with you."

He went back to the house, and we started for the wagon.