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An' that you've had stock poisoned an' shot? An' blamed it to me?" "Yes," said Steve. "So've I," said the old man heavily. "An' I've always blamed it to you. An' I never sold to Andy Sprague. Him an' Blenham Blenham has played us both ways for suckers, has stole enough cows from one an' another "

Johnny asked, pointing to the cows. "Seeing what?" Peterson snapped. "I knew we were going to have some tall explaining to do when you fellows took over here," Johnny said, "and, of course, I don't blame you one bit. That was some blast Hetty set off out there." "You don't know," Dr. Peterson murmured fearfully, "you just don't know."

"Warm yourselves while you are waiting," continued she, "it will not be long, and you must excuse me I must go and milk the cows that is work which will not wait."

There was no occasion even to take out the wagon, though we made a one-night camp at the mouth of the Ganso, and another about midway between the home ranch and Shepherd's Ferry, pack mules serving instead of the wagon. On the home range, in gathering to brand, we never disturbed the mixed cattle, cutting out only the cows and calves.

'You shouldn't spit into the vintage, as Father Noah says." "I tell you, Vermichel, that my business requires me to go to the chateau des Aigues," repeated the old man, with an air of laughable self-importance. "And anyhow," said Mam Tonsard, "my father had better keep out of the way. Do you really mean to find the cows?"

In reality he fell into amazement when he thought of the Herculean labours those fifteen pairs of hands had performed: of the cows they had milked, the butter they had made, the gardens they had planted, the children and grandchildren they had tended, the brooms they had worn out, the mountains of food they had cooked. It made him dizzy.

She always made her friends feel that she was with them, side by side with them, and turning her face in the same direction, before she attempted to lead them farther. I assured him that he had not offended me, but that I had been foolishly backing him from the front, as I once heard an Irishman say, some of whose bulls were very good milch cows. "She teaches them every Sunday evening," I added.

"Let Humphrey make all the money he can with his pigs." "Yes; and the butter belongs to me, if I make it," said Alice. "No no," replied Humphrey; "that's not fair; I find cows, and get nothing for them. We must go halves Alice." "Well, I've no objection to that," said Alice "because you find the cows and feed them.

Many days of thunder storms followed, one after another and if the sun came out between, it burned unbearably, and new storms followed so unceasingly and violent, that the herdsman, on the other mountain often said that he had not known such a summer for years, and if it didn't change he wouldn't make half so much butter as in former summers, because the cows gave no milk, as they didn't like the fodder.

He took him through the seasons, telling him of the blown golden armies of the daffodils that marched out for Easter, and the fragrant white glory of the may; and the pale pink stars of the hedge-roses, and the yellow joy of buttercup fields wherein cows stand knee-deep and munch, in order to give Thomas sweet white milk.