"How are you gettin' on?" asked the squire.

This was rather a favorite question of his, it being so much the
custom for his neighbors to apply to him when in difficulties,
so that their misfortune he had come to regard as his harvests. .

"I've met with a loss," answered Hiram Walton.

"You don't say so," returned the squire, with instant attention.
"What's happened?"

"My cow is dead."

"When did she die?"

"This morning."

"What was the matter?"

"I don't know. I didn't notice but that she was welt enough last
night; but this morning when I went out to the barn, she was lying
down breathing heavily."

"What did you do?"

"I called in Elihu Perkins, and we worked over her for three hours;
but it wasn't of any use; she died half an hour ago."

"I hope it isn't any disease that's catchin'," said the squire in
alarm, thinking of his ten. "It would be a bad job if it should