"What!" I exclaimed. "Can't we be left in peaceful possession of a
cow for a single night?" And, taking my revolver, I hurried down-
stairs and out-of-doors, forgetting my hat in my haste. Euphemia
screamed after me to be careful and keep the pistol pointed away
from me.

I whistled for the dog as I went out, but to my surprise he did not
answer.

"Has he been killed?" I thought, and, for a moment, I wished that I
was a large family of brothers--all armed.

But on my way to the barn I met a person approaching with a lantern
and a dog. It was Pomona, and she had a milk-pail on her arm.

"See here, sir," she said, "it's mor'n half full. I just made up
my mind that I'd learn to milk--if it took me all night. I didn't
go to bed at all, and I've been at the barn fur an hour. And there
ain't no need of my goin' after no man in the mornin'," said she,
hanging up the barn key on its nail.

I simply mention this circumstance to show what kind of a girl
Pomona had grown to be.

We were all the time at work in some way, improving our little
place. "Some day we will buy it," said Euphemia. We intended to
have some wheat put in in the fall and next year we would make the
place fairly crack with luxuriance. We would divide the duties of
the farm, and, among other things, Euphemia would take charge of