"Please, Grandmother, I can milk Daisy."
"There, child! Nonsense!" said the old woman crossly. "Daisy would kick
thee and thy pail over in no time. We should lose our milk, and happen
have thee to nurse as well."
"But Daisy likes me, Granny," pleaded the would-be milkmaid. "I never
throw stones at her or pull her tail; she would not kick me. I know how
to milk, don't I, Grandfather?"
"Eh, bless her, so she do!" returned a feeble voice from the bed in the
corner of the kitchen. "It's a brave little lass, that it is! I'd sooner
trust her than Tom, for all he's three years older."
Grandmother gave a reluctant consent, and forth went the little
milkmaid, her bucket on her arm, and her dog Gypsy jumping about and
inviting her to have a race with him. Play was a very good thing, and
Susie dearly loved a romp, but this morning she shook her head, and told
Gypsy he must wait until her task was safely over. She was very proud of
Grandfather's confidence in her, and made up her mind to deserve it.
Susie looked like a part of the bright May morning as she tripped gayly
down the pathway to the brook, brushing the dew off the grass and
flowers with her bare little white feet, and singing a gay
"good-morning" to the birds fluttering in and out of the bushes.
A kind little girl was Susie, loving all the living creatures about her
moorland home, and loved by them. The birds knew better than to come
within reach of Tom, but they hardly paused in their busy nest-building
as Susie passed by; only singing a little more gayly than before, which
was their way of welcoming her, so Susie said.
Grandfather's cottage was built on the top of a steep field. At the
bottom a bubbling, noisy little brook went tumbling and bustling merrily
over the stones, filling the sweet, warm air with a cheery song of its
own. A plank served as a bridge across the stream; and as Susie walked
steadily over it she noticed a fat, motherly old duck nestling down
amongst the ferns and dock-leaves on the bank. Mother Duck uttered a
startled and indignant "Quack, quack," as Gypsy jumped over her head and
dashed headlong into the cool, bright water.
"Ah, Mrs. Duck," cried Susie merrily, "I see now where your eggs go! I
shall pay you a visit presently; I can't stop now, because I am going
a-milking."
The old duck looked after her with quite an air of understanding all
about it, and gravely watched her run on towards the field where Daisy
the cow stood waiting at the gate. Tom had forgotten all about
milking-time, but Mistress Daisy had good reasons of her own for liking
punctuality in such matters. So she poked her long white nose through
the bars of the gate, and greeted Susie with a long, doleful complaint
of the sad way in which she had been neglected that morning.
Perhaps it was Daisy's reproachful "Moo" which first made the little
maid conscious that she had forgotten the milking-stool, but she now
decided to do without it. The good old cow's temper must not be tried by
any further delay, so down she knelt in the cool, dewy grass, and,
carefully fixing the pail, began her task.
She found it not so easy as she expected, for milking requires practice,
and some strength of fingers, and Susie had little of either. But Daisy
was very good, and so the sweet, frothy milk rose higher and higher in
the little pail, until at length the task was done. Daisy showed she
thought so by suddenly beginning to walk away. The pail had a narrow
escape then, but Susie got it safely out of the way, and began her
homeward walk. Very steadily she carried the pail to the brook. There a
surprise awaited her; while she had been milking some one had pulled
away the plank, and thrown it down on the opposite bank. Wet feet are no
hardship to little girls who wear no shoes and stockings. Susie soon
tucked up her dress, and walked carefully through the bubbling stream,
taking good heed of the stones at the bottom. She got across safely, and
began to climb the steep, narrow path leading to the cottage. On either
side the grass was long, sometimes almost meeting across the path. All
in a moment her foot caught in some hidden trap, and down she fell! Alas
for the poor little milkmaid! Her pail was upset, and the milk--the
precious milk--ran hither and thither amongst the primroses and daisies,
and finally trickled down into the brook.
"This comes of sending babies a-milking," said Grandmother, who had seen
the disaster from the cottage door. "Come in," she added crossly, as the
distressed little maid came slowly up the path. "Thou'rt a bad, careless
lass, and shall have no breakfast. Catch me sending thee a-milking
again."
"Wait a bit, Grandmother," said the old man, in his feeble, quavering
voice. "Did not I hear Tom say that he'd teach the little one to meddle
with his job? You must go down the path and see for yourself if it is
not one of his tricks. Something must have tripped the child up."
Grandmother could not refuse to go down the path, but she went
unwillingly. Tom was her favorite, and she did not wish to find him out
in the wrong. But when she came to the milk-dyed spot, and found the
long grass tied together across the path, she could no longer deny that
the child in fault was not little Susie. As she slowly wended her way
back to the cottage, she felt not only angry with naughty, idle Tom, but
grieved at her own lack of justice to the willing little milkmaid.
Tom's unkind and revengeful conduct did not this time go unpunished; but
his grandmother's over-indulgence had sadly spoilt his character, and
although she strove hard to remedy the evil, it is doubtful if he will
ever learn to be as obedient and unselfish as his good little sister
Susie.
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