170 
THE RUR.A.L, NEW-VORKER 
The Milking of Jersey 
It was au evil day for Dinny Culneen 
when he visited the Weeks dairy farm. 
He not only played truant, in punish¬ 
ment for which he hau to learn to spell 
two dozen words besprinkled with illogi¬ 
cal “ie’s’ and “ei’s,” but he there saw 
a queer machine that filled his soul with 
unattainable longings. It was a pneu¬ 
matic milker, by means of which six IIol- 
stein-Friesians were robbed of their rich 
•'messes” at once, the milk flowing 
through tubes into covered pails without 
coming in contact with the air. The 
long stable, fitted with gas-pipe stall 
partitions, hard wood plank floors, piv¬ 
oted stanchions, litter carriers and con¬ 
crete drainage, was unbelievably clean, 
;is were the milkmen, all clad in white 
overalls and jackets, like so many cooks 
or waiters. This super-cleanliness did 
not especially interest Dinny; but he 
simply could not keep his eyes off the 
milker. 
Oh, that he might have a little onp, 
of one-cow size! For Dinny was think¬ 
ing of “Jersey,” and of his morning and 
evening task, the extraction of five to six 
quarts of milk, to which she invariably 
offered both positive and negative resist¬ 
ance, kicking at him. stepping upon his 
toes and whacking his face with her bur¬ 
dock-laden tail, besides never, in any cir¬ 
cumstances, “giving down” freely, like a 
well-behaved cow.- At times, Dinny felt 
that he simply loathed “Jersey,” and all 
that appertained unto her. 
After looking at the milker for a long 
time in silence, he plucked up courage 
and walked over to the farm foreman. 
“How long have they b’en makin’ them 
things?” he asked, pointing a ^stubby 
forefinger at the object of his admira¬ 
tion. 
“Oh,” said the man. “three or four 
years—that improved kind. I mean. 
They’ve made milking machines, though, 
longer than that.” lie looked at the 
round, freckled face and tip-tilted nose 
of his questioner and grinned, a» many 
people had a habit of doing, much to 
Dinny’s wonderment and disgust. “Do 
you need a milker in your business, sou?” 
he inquired. 
“I sure do,” said Dinny. fervently; “a 
little wan, that is.” 
“She kicks, does she?” 
“Yes; an’ swats me with her tail.” 
"I understand,” said the man; “they 
often do that. I used to milk that sort of 
a cow when I was a boy, until I learned 
better.” 
“Till you learned better! An’ what did 
you do then ? ’ 
“Well,” the foreman drawled in reply, 
still smiling, “there weren’t any milking 
machines then, so I got four straws, 
about six inches long, and shoved them 
up the cow’s teats till the milk began to 
run. Then all I had to do was to sit 
back and let it fill the pail, after which 
I pulled out the straws and saved them 
to use again. It was a whole lot easier 
than cramping my fingers.” 
Dinny felt a certain lingering suspicion 
of the smile, but, after all. the scheme 
sounded plausible, till grave doubts arose 
over a certain important point involved 
in the process. 
“An’ wud she stan’ fer it?” he de¬ 
manded. 
“She? Who?” asked the foreman. 
“The cow !” said Dinny, with indignant 
emphasis. 
“Why, as I remember it, she wasn’t 
\ hat you might call pleased; but, then, 
'die never was, and I guess she stood 
about as well to be milked that way as 
any other.” 
“She must’a’ b’en like Jersey,” said 
Dinny, reflectively; “she’s mad all th’ 
time.” 
“You overlooked one point, John,” one 
of the other men remarked, winking at 
the foreman ; “you always want to grease 
the straws.” 
“I didn’t think of that, for a fact,” 
John admitted. 
“Yes,” said the man starting for the 
cooling room with a pailful of milk in 
either hand, “cows get so they like it, if 
you only use plenty of grease.” 
Walking homeward, through the dew- 
covered grass, Dinny pondered deeply 
over what he had heard. He still had 
lingering doubts as to the reliability of 
the information so freely imparted; but 
when “Jersey,” a tall, rawboned, yellow 
cow, not one of whose ancestors had ever 
seen the Channel Islands, despite the sug¬ 
gestion of her name, behaved in her cus¬ 
tomary cantakerous manner, he resolved 
to use straws—and grease, plenty of 
grease. 
The cow-shed was at the rear of the 
small, un pain ted house, which stood on a 
four-corners, with the blacksmith shop 
of Timothy Culneen, Dinny’s father, 
diagonally across the road. “Jersey” 
was pastured in Anthony Mooney’s 
“crick-lot,” back of the shop, and the 
milking, in Summer time, had hitherto 
been done in a fence corner; but on the 
plea that the flies were troublesome, 
which was undoubtedly true, Dinny, the 
next morning, drove the cow to the shed. 
lie had secured four wheat straws 
from the loft, and cut them to an esti¬ 
mated length of six inches. But when 
“Jersey” was securely tied in the stall, 
and Dinny made some tentative approach¬ 
es, she thrashed about so furiously that it 
soon became apparent that the insertion 
of the straws was going to be no easy 
matter. However, there was as yet no 
soothing grease in stock. 
Dinny slipped out of the doorway of 
the shed, and surveyed the rear of the 
house with a keenly-observant eye. His 
aim was to make a raid on either the 
butter-jar oj the lard-crock, no special 
brand of grease having been recommend¬ 
ed ; but Mrs. Culneen was bending over 
the family wash-tub on the landing above 
the cellar hatchway, and would be sure 
to ask embarrassing questions if he at¬ 
tempted to pass her. 
Dodging nimbly from tree to tree in 
the side yard, Dinny discovered that his 
sister Ellen was in the kitchen, washing 
the breakfast dishes, so he slipped into 
the front room and seized a round tin 
box from behind the clock on the mantel¬ 
piece shelf. This box contained an oint¬ 
ment highly valued by his mother for 
cuts, sprains, burns and bruises, and he 
meant to use it with all possible econ¬ 
omy, but it was grease, and grease he 
must have. At first opportunity he would 
substitute lard or butter. 
He got back to the shed without de¬ 
tection, anointed the straws and resumed 
operations with “Jersey.” The argu¬ 
ment that ensued was a strenuous one, 
requiring four times the effort of a nor¬ 
mal milking, but Dinny was determined 
to “break her in” at all costs, and at 
the end of 15 minutes he was a perspir¬ 
ing victor. Braced forward against the 
manger, with glaring eyes and humped 
back. “Jersey” stood with her feet close 
together while the milk slowly trickled 
into the pail. It was a rather short mess, 
but, then, the flies were troublesome; 
after the cow had become wonted to the 
new method, she would, no doubt, “give 
down” to the last drop. 
At the noonday dinner Timothy Cul¬ 
neen sniffed at his tea, tasted it sus¬ 
piciously. and pushed the cup away from 
him. 
“What herbs have ye been mixin’ with 
th' tea?” he demanded of his wife. 
“Herbs! Huh!” said Mrs. Culneen. 
scornfully, but after tasting and sniffing 
in turn, she went to the tea-canister to 
investigate, and from there to the teapot, 
and thence to the milk-jug. 
“’Tis”—sniff—sniff—“'tis here, it is. 
An’ what is it, Tim?” thrusting the jug 
under her husband’s nose. 
He smelled judicially, and cocked his 
head on one side in earnest thought. 
“Pennyroyal,” was his final decision. 
“’Tis, too,” his wife agreed, nodding 
vigorously. “That cow’s been eatin' it 
in Tony Mooney’s pastur’. A whole mess 
sp’iled! If this happens ag’in we’ll be 
lookin’ fer cleaner feed.” 
A cold sweat had been slowly oozing 
from every pore of Dinny’s body during 
this investigation, but now he breathed 
more freely. His father was telling how 
he had known a whole “makin’ ” of but¬ 
ter to be spoiled by leeks; plainly the 
true source of the infection was suspect¬ 
ed by no one but himself. After school 
he watched his chance, returned the box 
of ointment to its place, threw away the 
straws, procured others, and finally se¬ 
cured a tablespoonful of lard from the 
cellar. 
Late that afternoon there was another 
battle, fully as hard fought as the first, 
and again Dinny conquered. “She’ll git 
wonted.” he declared between set teeth; 
“but she's thot stubborn it’ll take time!” 
The mess was a little more copious 
than that of the morning, but was still 
below normal. Mrs. Culneen noted this 
fact as she smelled of it, but as she de¬ 
tected no taint of pennyroyal, not much 
was said. She and Ellen were busy pre¬ 
paring the family wardrobe for the an¬ 
nual picnic at Clam Beach, and had lit¬ 
tle time to devote to less important mat¬ 
ters. The picnic was to be held on the 
morrow, and throughout the evening flat¬ 
irons and the oven of the kitchen range 
were alike kept busy. 
Dinny took advantage of the oppor¬ 
tunity to prepare for a further step in 
the arduous conquering of “Jersey.” If 
he was going to “break in” the cow prop¬ 
erly and promptly, it would be necessary 
to hold her hind feet back where they 
belonged. He had figured out a plan. 
Ilis father had gone to the store at the 
Center, and his mother and sister were 
too busy to notice him. Getting a lan¬ 
tern and a hatchet from the shop, he pried 
off two rings formerly used to uphold a 
clothesline, and carefully straightened 
the staples. Then he fastened the rings 
to the floor of the stable, where he want¬ 
ed the cow’s hind feet to stand, crawled 
under the floor and clinched the staples, 
and surveyed his work with satisfaction. 
“When I strap her old hoofs to them 
rings,” he said to himself. “I fancy she'll 
stay where I want her!” 
All was bustle inside the house the 
next morning, and Timothy Culneen had 
gone to Mooney’s to borrow a horse and 
chaise for the family party, when Dinny 
drove the reluctant “Jersey” into the 
shed. She seemed to scent trouble, and 
was belligerent from the instant he sight¬ 
ed her. 
Dodging her kicks, he slipped a noose 
around first one ankle and then the other, 
and drew the straps through the rings. 
When he had made them fast with two 
half-hitches and had tied the end of her 
tail to a nail on the wall, he felt im¬ 
mensely elated. 
The cow glared back at him as before, 
but her feet were fast and he was grow¬ 
ing expert in inserting the straws. In a 
moment he was seated in triumph on the 
stool, holding the pail between his knees, 
and listening to the patter of the milk. 
“Jersey” writhed and wriggled in vain. 
The last drops of milk were falling, when 
suddenly she made a spasmodic twist, 
lost her balance, and came over sidewise 
upon boy and pail. Dinny emitted a 
shrill shriek of terror, and felt sure that 
he was about to be smashed flat. When 
he crawled out from under, he found that 
only the pail had actually'•been flattened; 
but then he glanced over his shoulder 
and saw his mother standing in the door¬ 
way ! 
“An’ this is way you milk, is it!” she 
cried, “with th’ poor beast tied to th’ 
floor ! Onfasten them straps !” 
Dinny released the half-hitches, and 
“Jersey,” actively assisted by Mrs. Cul¬ 
neen, scrambled to her feet. No sooner 
was she erect than the unwelcome visitor 
noted the trickle of milk and saw the 
projecting straws. For a moment she 
was almost speechless with wrath. 
“Usin’ straws!” she shouted, seizing 
her son by the collar; “spoilin’ th’ cow 
an’ the makin’ a leaker of her, ’cause 
ye’re too lazy to milk !” 
She fell upon Dinny with both hands, 
one cuff to half floor him, and the other 
to restore his balance. He held his 
crooked arms before his face, and never 
whimpered at the punishment. 
“An’ now,” said Mrs. Culneen, quite 
out of breath, “you take Jersey to th’ 
pastur’, and’ take her gentle; an’ then 
you can stay at home.” 
“Oh-h, oh-h!” shrieked Dinny, collaps¬ 
ing for the first time, “an’ can’t I go 
to th’ picnic?” 
“You cannot, not one inch—unless 
you can gather up that spilled milk, an’ 
fill them pans in the cellar!” 
Dinny lay on his face by the wayside, 
without even looking up, when his parents 
and sister drove away. They Were go¬ 
ing to t'dl Father O’Neill about him, and 
he could foresee a lecture ahead, in ad¬ 
dition to all his other troubles. His 
heart was filled with unspeakable bitter¬ 
ness. Then came the clatter of a swift¬ 
ly-moving wagon, and Dinny, glancing 
July 31, 1915. 
with one swollen eye over his arm, saw 
the big delivery wagon from the Weeks 
farm going to meet the 8 :30 a. m. train. 
lie was on his feet in an instant, shak¬ 
ing both fists at once, and shouting fur¬ 
iously at Foreman John, who was driv¬ 
ing. 
“You’re a fine man. tellin’ me to use 
straws, so I’ll sp’ile Jersey, an’ make a 
leaker of her; an’ gittin’ me licked; an’ 
now I can’t go to th’ picnic! A fine 
man, you are! Just wait till I grow 
up!” 
The foreman halted his team and 
looked at the dancing figure with wide 
eyes. “Well, son.” he said, “you seem 
some inflamed. Just say that over again, 
and throw in a few details.” 
He got the details, and also a fine 
general effect, in Dinny’s best style. 
“An’ now I can’t fill them pans, an’ here 
I be—an’ them gone to th’ picnic!” tin- 
boy wailed, in mixed anger and grief. 
“I apologize. Dinny," said Foreman 
John, climbing down from the high seat. 
“It’s all my fault, for getting funny and 
joshing a small boy is mighty poor busi¬ 
ness for a grown man, just as you say. 
Where are those pans?” 
“They’re in the cellar.” said the boy. 
sullenly. 
In three minutes the pans had been 
filled from a can at the rear of the wag¬ 
on. and hustled back to the cellar. 
“Now get your jacket,” said the fore¬ 
man. “Never mind your old shirt—boys 
can have more fun in a dirty shirt than a 
clean one, any day. We’re going to over¬ 
take that picnic party if I have to found¬ 
er .Jase Weeks’s best team to do it.” 
A mile away, with the milk station in 
sight at their left, they passed the corner 
leading to it, on a jump, and saw the 
rear wagon of the irregularly strung-out 
picnic procession just ahead. Three rigs 
had been overtaken and left behind, when 
the back of Mooney’s chaise became visi¬ 
ble. 
“Tim Culneen. Tim Culneen!” Fore¬ 
man John roared; and pulled up beside 
the halted vehicle. 
“Here’s Dinny, ready for the picnic, 
and deserving of it.” he called. “That 
straw milking was all my fault—and the 
pans are filled. I’ve got just eleven min¬ 
utes to catch that train at the station; 
and he can tell you how it happened !” 
ROE L. HENDRICK. 
The Regeneration of Sarah 
(Continued from page 963.) 
replaced by a trim blue dress which 
brought out the blue of her eyes and 
accentuated the clearness of the deli¬ 
cately tinted skin. Her abundant blond 
hair, released from the curlers, waved 
softly back from her face and was ef¬ 
fectively arranged in the latest fashion. 
“Why Rob, I didn’t know you were 
here!” she gushed with well-feigned sur¬ 
prise. Margaret. who hated deceit, 
flashed an indignant look at Sarah, blit 
said nothing. 
“Good morning, Sarah—late for break¬ 
fast. aren’t you?” teased Robert. “Say, 
I’m mighty glad you’re all going to stay 
on the farm.” 
“I’m not glad—I hate farm life! I 
can’t fancy any one being contented in 
the country.” 
This was an unkind thrust, for Sarah 
knew that it was Robert’s intention to 
go to farming as soon as he left school. 
She had come down prepared to be un¬ 
usually gracious, but the turn the con¬ 
versation had taken put her in a bad 
humor, and Robert soon suggested to 
Ben that they go and look over the 
orchard. This did not please Sarah at 
all, and she vented her displeasure on 
Alice and Margaret until a telephone call 
from Dick Moreland, a Westfield ad¬ 
mirer, asking her to go driving with him 
that afternoon, restored her good humor. 
Ben spent so much time pruning the 
apple trees that it was fully a week be¬ 
fore he went for a plow. He had no 
difficulty in getting it, but felt discour¬ 
aged when he saw that all the neighbors 
had their plowing well under way He 
worked hard to make up for the time 
lost from school, but the strain of hard 
physical and mental labor proved too 
great, and often he went to sleep over 
his lessons. He finally realized that he 
would have to give up bis studies, and 
reluctantly did so. 
{To be continued) 
