They
were fine, gentle animals, in excellent condition, and looking
every way happy and comfortable; nothing living under Mr. Van
Brunt's care was ever suffered to look otherwise. He was
always in the barn or barnyard at milking time, and under his
protection Ellen felt safe, and looked on at her ease. It was
a very pretty scene — at least, she thought so. The gentle
cows standing quietly to be milked as if they enjoyed it, and
munching the cud; and the white streams of milk foaming into
the pails; then there was the interest of seeing whether Sam
or Johnny would get through first; and how near Jane or Dolly
would come to rivalling Streaky's fine pailful; and at last
Ellen allowed Mr. Van Brunt to teach herself how to milk. She
began with trembling, but learnt fast enough; and more than
one pailful of milk that Miss Fortune strained, had been,
unknown to her, drawn by Ellen's fingers. These minutes in the
farm-yard were the pleasantest in Ellen's day. While they
lasted every care was forgotten, and her little face was as
bright as the morning; but the milking was quickly over, and
the cloud gathered on Ellen's brow almost as soon as the
shadow of the house fell upon it.
"Where is the post-office, Mr. Van Brunt?" she asked, one
morning, as she stood watching the sharpening of an axe upon
the grindstone. The axe was in that gentleman's hand, and its
edge carefully laid to the whirling-stone, which one of the
farm-boys was turning.
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