Steve was so used up by his rural experiences that he could scarcely
get out of bed the next day. And that was not the worst of it: his
temper was bruised as well as his body, as was manifest by the way he
behaved. Not that he stormed or sulked; Steve was above anything of
this kind; but he did speak very decidedly, for him, as he rose from
his late breakfast.
"Nannie," he said, "you may do as you wish about the cow. I think it
might be well to sell her for beef--she is in good condition. But do
as you wish about that--she is yours; but I really cannot undertake to
have anything more to do with her."
For some time after Steve left the house Nannie sat staring in the
direction in which he had disappeared. She was as much amazed as she
had been the day he fought the Andersonvilles, but less elated.
"Well," she said to herself at last, "the upshot of it all is, he's
given Sarah Maria notice. I wonder if he will give me notice next?"
She walked slowly into the kitchen, where a stout, red-faced woman was
at work.
"Bridget," she said, "can you milk?"
"Shure I kin; an' why?"
"Because Mr. Loveland won't milk Sarah Maria any more."
"No more wud I, an' he's stud it so long. Shure he's been loike a lamb
beside her, an' she hookin' him full o' holes till his poor body cud
be used for a sieve."
"Oh, what shall I do!" cried Nannie pettishly. "You're all of you as
mean as you can be! I won't sell her for beef! I just won't!"
"No more you needn't, me darlint! There, now, don't take on so. Shure
it's mesilf'll manage it wid yez somehow, though it's loike the both
of us will nade the praste an' extrame unction before we're t'rough
wid her."
Nothing daunted Nannie sallied forth, followed by Bridget, who
grumbled all the way.
"Faith, in ould Oireland it's mesilf milked twinty cows at wan
sittin', an' they standin' forninst me widout a word loike lambs till
I was ready fer the nixt wan."
"Well, now, that's great!" interrupted Nannie. "Steve has left her
right out here. I wonder why he did that?"
Mrs. Maria stared fixedly at her, once in awhile tossing her horns.
There was a glare in her eye, by the light of which one might read her
thoughts.
"Just here," she was saying to herself, "Steve and I fought to a
finish, and I saw the last of him as he flew through yonder window."
"Set a pail of food forninst her now, Miss Nannie, an' she'll run to
the cow-yard," called Bridget.
This ruse proved successful. As soon as she saw the food the delighted
Sarah kicked up her heels and, flourishing her head in such a manner
that it seemed to comprehend everything in its wide swath, ran into
the cow-yard, where Nannie skillfully lassoed her and tied her to the
fence just as she plunged her nose into the pail.
Meanwhile Bridget, terrified by these lively humors, had started
toward the house, and her desire for speed exceeding her physical
ability, she soon measured her length upon the ground, where she lay,
roaring lustily, under the impression that the enemy was upon her.
"What are you howling for, you old goose?" shouted Nannie.
"It's the cow!" screamed Bridget. "Take her off! Oh, howly Mither! I'm
kilt entirely."
"The cow is half a mile from you!" laughed Nannie. "She didn't even
look toward you."
"Shure I felt her horns go into me back, an' as the saints live in
glory, I see thim come out at me brist."
"Well, I wish I could see you come out at the cow-yard with that milk
pail."
Bridget picked up her pieces, put herself together, and
discontentedly ambled toward the cow-yard, averring that in spite of
all Nannie might say, she knew she had a hole an inch wide in her left
lung; she could feel the wind whistle through it.
"There's nothing the matter with your lungs," said Nannie, "as all the
neighborhood knows by this time."
With a long, solemn countenance and a tear in each eye, Bridget
approached Sarah Maria, who was breakfasting in a hasty, unhygienic
manner.
"It's me life I take in me hand," murmured Bridget.
"Drop your life and take your pail instead, or are you going to milk
into your apron?" said Nannie imperiously.
"Oh, me pail! Shure the head of me is turned intirely, bad cess to
that cow! or I believe there's a hole through it, loike there is in me
lung."
"Your head turned!" said Nannie scornfully. "I should say it
was--turned inside out and emptied entirely."
But Bridget was wooing Mrs. Maria now.
"Aisy, now! Aisy, I say!" she muttered as she cautiously lowered
herself onto the milking stool.
But by some mysterious law of opposites, as she went down the pail
went up. Sarah Maria never ceased munching for a moment, but Nannie,
who was fixedly regarding her and trying to calculate how much longer
her breakfast would last, heard the crash, and looking around saw the
pail on its way upward.
"Now may the saints forgive me if I imperil me life anny longer!"
cried Bridget from a safe distance.
"And may Sarah Maria forgive you for sitting down on the wrong side of
her, you old goose!" screamed Nannie in her rude way.
"Howly Mither defind us! Did I do that now? Shure the twinty cows I
milked in ould Oireland preferred that side, an' they were very
particular about it, ivery last wan of thim."
"Now, don't crawl along that way," said Nannie impatiently as Bridget
crept up to her, "and take hold as if you weren't afraid."
"Shure if I had a shillalah wid a sucker on the ind of it, it's milk
her I wud, widout anny loss of me color, though she thritened me wid
twinty horns an' as manny hind legs."
"Oh, you've got several bees in your bonnet, that's what's the matter
with you!" exclaimed Nannie.
"Is it bees, ye say? Air they loose too?" screamed Bridget, jerking
off her sunbonnet and tearing down her hair. "Is it bees as well as
cows in me hid, an' ye standin' laffin loike ter kill yersilf at the
very idee of me bein' murdered in cold blud!"
By this time her hair was distraught and her face flaming with
excitement and exertion, and altogether she so closely resembled some
avenging spirit that even Sarah Maria began to tremble before her.
As soon as Nannie could control herself she informed her that the
terrifying words she used were merely a figure of speech.
"Clothed or not clothed----" Nannie began, but Bridget burst forth:
"An' I wuldn't hev belaved that anny young leddy wid a dacent raisin'
wud use figgers of spache, widout clothes at that. It's Bridget
O'Flannigan'll see if----"
But here Nannie's screams of laughter interrupted her.
"I believe you've a brick in your bonnet as well as a bee," she
exclaimed.
This time Bridget understood, and clapping her sunbonnet (upside down)
onto her disrumpled head, she wabbled toward the house.
This would never do, so Nannie ran and planted herself in front of
her.
"Come, now, Bridget--dear Bridget, don't be mad with me," she said
coaxingly.
Bridget had come to Mrs. Lamont's when Nannie was little more than
eight years of age, and through the succeeding years of childhood and
girlhood had been her stanch friend and her confidante in many a time
of trouble.
"What shall I do with my cow? You surely will help me out!"
The fire faded from Bridget's flaming countenance, and she paused,
irresolute as to her course.
"You won't desert me, Bridget, I know!" pleaded Nannie softly.
"Sure it's not Bridget O'Flannigan will desart an orphin child; but I
make it distinct, an' ye hear me now, that I'm a respictable woman,
not given to takin' a dhrop too much or too little, an' I won't stan'
an' be insulted, an' me twilve years over from ould Oireland come
Saint Patrick's Day. An' even if I am doin' disrespictful work now,
milkin' an ould cow in which the divil has taken up his risidince, I
want yez still ter handle me character wid care."
No doubt Sarah Maria was awed by this address, or else the very
uncomplimentary manner in which she herself was alluded to startled
her into a realization of the steep down which she was rushing and
toward what pit her path inclined. Be that as it may, she contentedly
munched the second pail of food which Nannie brought her, and granted
the trembling Bridget peace and quiet in which to extract the cream
and invoke the saints.