When Euphemia found that the Irish girl really intended to leave,
we consulted together and concluded to engage Pomona, and I went so
far as to agree to carry her books to and from the circulating
library to which she subscribed, hoping thereby to be able to
exercise some influence on her taste. And thus part of the old
family of Rudder Grange had come together again. True, the boarder
was away, but, as Pomona remarked, when she heard about him, "You
couldn't always expect to ever regain the ties that had always
bound everybody."

Our delight and interest in our little farm increased day by day.
In a week or two after Pomona's arrival I bought a cow. Euphemia
was very anxious to have an Alderney,--they were such gentle,
beautiful creatures,--but I could not afford such a luxury. I
might possibly compass an Alderney calf, but we would have to wait
a couple of years for our milk, and Euphemia said it would be
better to have a common cow than to do that.

Great was our inward satisfaction when the cow, our OWN cow, walked
slowly and solemnly into our yard and began to crop the clover on
our little lawn. Pomona and I gently drove her to the barn, while
Euphemia endeavored to quiet the violent demonstrations of the dog
(fortunately chained) by assuring him that this was OUR cow and
that she was to live here, and that he was to take care of her and
never bark at her. All this and much more, delivered in the
earnest and confidential tone in which ladies talk to infants and
dumb animals, made the dog think that he was to be let loose to
kill the cow, and he bounded and leaped with delight, tugging at
his chain so violently that Euphemia became a little frightened and
left him. This dog had been named Lord Edward, at the earnest