While Mrs. Royal was looking after the baby, the parson fed his horse,
"Sweepstakes," and milked "Brindle," the cow. He then turned the
latter loose, and drove her down the lane to the feeding-ground beyond.

"There is a stray cow out in the pasture," the clergyman informed his
wife as he sipped his coffee.

"Whose is it?" was the somewhat absent-minded reply, for Mrs. Royal's
attention was upon Rodney, who was creeping gaily about the floor,
examining every nook, and making himself perfectly at home.

"I don't know whose it is," the parson retorted, a little nettled at
his wife's question. "I can tell you about every man, woman, and child
in this parish; I know all the horses and dogs, and can give you their
pedigrees. But I draw a line at cows, pigs, hens, and cats. I am fond
enough of them, but there is a limit to the things I can remember. I
forget too much as it is. And, by the way, that reminds me that I must
go to Hazlewood to-day. Joe Bradley told me last night that his mother
is ill, and wishes to see me. He came all the way to the meeting on
purpose to tell me, and to think that I nearly forgot all about it! It
was that young rascal, though, who did it," and the parson turned his
eyes upon the baby. "Do you think that you can make out alone with
him, Martha? I fear that I shall be away all day, as there are several
other calls I must make at Hazlewood."

"Oh, I shall make out all right," was the reply. "But there are
several things you might bring me from the store on your way home. I
will make out a list for you, as you would be sure to forget them."