The cows had not passed the gate. Somebody had opened it for them, and
they were now standing or lying in the yard, in the very perfection of
animal enjoyment. The girls were not at home to milk them, however.
Christie had heard her father's voice calling to them in the lower
field, and she knew it would be full half an hour, and quite dark,
before they could be at home. So, with a sigh, she took the stool and
the milk-pails from a bench near the door, and went to the yard to her
task.
If her short-sighted eyes had seen the long, low wagon that stood at the
end of the house, curiosity would have tempted her to go back to see who
might be there. If she had known that in that wagon her sister Effie
had ridden home a day sooner than she was expected, she would not have
seated herself so quietly to her milking.
[Note: In America, any light four-wheeled vehicle is called a wagon.]
Christie was not lazy, though her aunt sometimes accused her of being
so. When her heart was in her work, she could do it quickly and well;
and her strength failed her always before her patience was exhausted.
She knew she must finish the milking alone now, and she set to it with a
will. In a surprisingly short time she was standing between two foaming
milk-pails at the gate. To carry them both at once was almost, though
not quite, beyond her strength; and as she stood for a moment hesitating
whether she would try it, or go with one and return for the other, the
matter was decided for her.
"Christie!" said a voice--not Aunt Elsie's--from the door.
Turning, Christie saw her sister Effie. Surprise kept her riveted to
the spot till her sister came down the path.
"Dinna lift them, Christie: you are no more able to do it than a
chicken. I'll carry them."
But she stooped first to place her hands on her little sister's
shoulders and to kiss her softly. Christie did not speak; but the touch
of her sister's lips unsealed the fountain of her tears, and clinging to
her and hiding her face, she cried and sobbed in a way that, at last,
really frightened her sister.
"Why, Christie! Why, you foolish lassie! What ails you, child? Has
anything happened?--or is it only that you are so glad to see me home
again? Don't cry in that wild way, child. What is it, Christie?"
"It's nothing--I dinna ken--I canna help it!" cried Christie, after an
ineffectual effort to control herself.
Her sister held the trembling little form for a moment without speaking,
and then she said, cheerfully:
"See, Christie! It's growing dark! We must be quick with the milking."
"Why didna you come last week, Effie?" said Christie, rousing herself at
last.
"Oh, partly because of the rain, and partly because I thought I would
put my two holidays together. This is Thursday night, and I can stay
till Monday morning--three whole days."
Christie gave a sigh, and smiled.
"Come," said Effie; "I'll help you. I was waiting till you came from
the pasture. I didna see you come."
"No; I didna go in."
It seemed to Christie that a very heavy burden had been lifted from her
heart. She smiled without the sigh, as soon as she met her sister's
grave look.
"Did you walk home, Effie?" she asked.
"No; I got a chance to ride with the book-man. He was at the corner,
and offered to bring me home, as he was coming this way. How beautiful
your pans look, Christie! Will you need them all?"
They were in the milk-house now. It was a large, low place, partly made
by digging into the side of the hill. It was a cool, pleasant place in
summer, and well suited to the purpose for which it had been built. It
was dark, however, when the girls entered, and would have been very
gloomy but for Christie's shining milk-pans and the rows of
cream-covered dishes beyond.
They were all needed, and some new ones had just been brought from the
tinman's. "I like them," said Christie: "they're lighter than the
earthen ones, and no' so easily broken. We've got much more milk since
the cows went into the upper field. You'll see what a pailful Fleckie
gives."
"Fleckie is your favourite yet," said Effie, smiling, as they left the
dairy together.
"Oh, yes! she's the best of them all--and so gentle! and I'm sure she
knows me. I don't think she likes any one to milk her half so well as
me."
"She'll let me milk her to-night, though," said Effie, removing her
cuffs and turning up her sleeves.
"You'll spoil your pretty frock," said Christie, doubtfully.
"There's no fear. I'll take care. Give me the stool."
Christie hesitated.
"But there's Blackie and Brownie to do yet--unless you would rather milk
Fleckie."
"I would rather milk them all," said Effie. "I'm sure, child, you look
as though you had had enough of it for one day."
"Oh, no; I expected to milk them all. I'm not very tired."
Christie ran for another stool, and seated herself beside her favourite.
She was quite near her sister, too; and they went on talking.
"I suppose this was churning-day?" said Effie.
"No; we churned yesterday, and we'll churn again to-morrow. It's
harder, and takes longer, now that the nights have got cooler. But the
butter is beautiful. We have the two tubs full, and we put the last we
made in a jar. I'll show it to you when we go in."
"I suppose Annie and Sarah have but little time to help you now? No
wonder you are tired," said Effie.
"No; they cannot help us except on a rainy day. But I never churn
alone. Aunt Elsie helps me. It took us three hours last time."
"I shouldna wonder if that is the reason that Aunt Elsie's shoulder is
worse," said Effie, with a sigh.
"Is it worse?" asked Christie. "She has said nothing about it."
"No; she says there is no use in complaining. But I do hope she is not
going to be ill, as she was before. It would be terrible for us all."
"I hope not, indeed," said Christie; and in a moment she added, "You
would need to bide at home then, Effie."
Effie shook her head.
"No; I should need all the more to be away if that were to happen. What
should we all do for shoes, if it werena for my school-money?"