CHAPTER XXV 
THE DAIRYMAID 
Or course I had trouble in getting a dairy- 
maid. I was not looking for the bouncing, 
buxom, red-cheeked, arms-akimbo, butter-colored- 
hair sort. I didn’t care whether she were red- 
cheeked and bouncing or not, but for obvious 
reasons I didn’t want her hair to be butter-col- 
ored. What I did want was a woman who un- 
derstood creamery processes, and who could and 
would make the very giltest of gilt-edged butter. 
I commenced looking for my paragon in Janu- 
ary. I interviewed applicants of both sexes and 
all nationalities, but there was none perfect; 
no, not one. I was not exactly discouraged, but 
I certainly began to grow anxious as the time 
approached when I should need my dairymaid, 
and need her badly. One day, while looking 
over the Rural New Yorker (I was weaned on 
that paper), I saw the following advertisement. 
«Wanted: Employment on a dairy-farm by a 
married couple who understand the business.” 
If this were true, these two persons were just 
what I needed; but, was it true? I had tried 
a score of greater promise and had not found 
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