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Updated: May 23, 2025
But the butterman's shop! and the entire cutting off from everything superior to the grocers and poulterers of Carlingford how would Phoebe support it? This was what Mr. and Mrs. Beecham asked each other with their eyes and there was a pause. For the question was a tremendous one, and neither knew in what way to reply. "Phoebe, you are a very sensible girl " said her father at last, faltering.
"Here your mistress tells me you want my assistance in choosing another horse." "Yes, sir to attend upon her in London." "I don't profess to be knowing in horses: what made you think of me?" "I saw how you sat your own horse, sir, and I heard you say you bought him out of a butterman's cart, and treated him like a human being: that was enough for me, sir.
"I beg your pardon, marchioness," he replied; "but you pulled up so quickly that we shot past you. I thought you were close behind, and preferred following. Seen his best days, eh, Lenorme?" he concluded, willing to change the subject. "I fancy he doesn't think so," returned the painter. "I bought him out of a butterman's cart, three months ago. He's been coming to himself ever since.
You have a vague idea of a milch cow as probably a white-plaster animal standing in a butterman's window, and you know nothing of the sweet history of genuine cream, such as Miss Gibbs's: how it was this morning in the udders of the large sleek beasts, as they stood lowing a patient entreaty under the milking-shed; how it fell with a pleasant rhythm into Betty's pail, sending a delicious incense into the cool air; how it was carried into that temple of moist cleanliness, the dairy, where it quietly separated itself from the meaner elements of milk, and lay in mellowed whiteness, ready for the skimming-dish which transferred it to Miss Gibbs's glass cream-jug.
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