had been right. Child-bearing was a natural function. People
probably made far too much fuss about it. Nellie came to help her
cook for the threshers and, for the rest, she managed very well,
even milking her usual eight cows and carrying her share of the
foaming buckets.

All might have gone smoothly if only she had not overslept one
morning in late September. When she reached the barn, Martin was
irritable. She did not answer him but sat down quietly by her
first cow, a fine-blooded animal which soon showed signs of
restlessness under her tense hands.

"There! There! So Bossy," soothed Rose gently.

"You never will learn how to manage good stock," Martin
criticized bitingly.

"Nor you how to treat a wife."

"Oh, shut up."

"Don't talk to me that way."

As she started to rise, a kick from the cow caught her square on
the stomach with such force that it sent her staggering backward,
still clutching the handle of the pail from which a snowy stream
cascaded.

"Now what have you done?" demanded Martin sternly. "Haven't I
warned you time and again that milk cows are sensitive, nervous?