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Updated: May 3, 2025
"So have I," Pearl said confidentially, as she sat down on a little three-legged stool to milk So-Bossie. "You know them fluffy white things all made of lace and truck like that, that is hung over the beds in rich people's houses, over the pillows, I mean?" "Pillow-shams?" he asked. "Yes, that's them! Well, when I stayed with Camilla one night at Mrs.
I am sorry if I did, but you see I like the sentiment of your song so much I could not help telling you. You need not think it strange if you find me milking one of the cows occasionally. You see, I believe in dealing directly with the manufacturer and thus save the middleman's profit, and so I just take what milk I need from So-Bossie over there." "Does she know?"
Pearl asked, nodding toward the house. "Who? So-Bossie?" "No, Mrs. Motherwell." "Well, no," he answered slowly. "You haven't heard of her having a fit, have you?" "No," Pearl answered wonderingly. "Then we're safe in saying that the secret has been kept from her." "Does it hurt her, though?" Pearl asked. "It would, very much, if she knew it," the young man replied gravely.
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