Hidden Treasures | Page 7

milk there by the stove. You'll find four of them in the orchard, back of
the smokehouse. Divide the milk among them, and hurry back to
breakfast."
Bob disappeared with the milk, but was back in a few minutes. The tin
wash basin was put into service again--this time hot water from the
boiling tea kettle took the chill off, and in a few minutes, he joined his
uncle who, having already washed, had that moment seated himself at
the breakfast table.

"Will you feed the chickens for me, Bob?" asked his grandmother, as
he rose from the table after breakfast. "You'll find some shell corn in a
feed box on the thrashing floor. Give them two measures."
"Come around to the wagon shed when you get through with feeding
the chickens, Bob," called his uncle, as he started for the barn. "I'll get
the team and we'll clean out the cow stable to-day."
Bob filled the small wooden box he found in the feed bin, then stepping
out into the barnyard, he called the chickens around him. He could not
help observing what a nondescript lot of chickens they were --not a
purebred among them; besides, he noticed many were old, and some
had frozen feet and combs. No wonder, he thought, as he glanced at the
poorly built hen house that faced the east instead of south--a lean-to
built against the side of the barn, with only one small window, and that
one on the north end, while the cracks between the upright boards, of
which the coop was constructed, were not even covered by strips.
With these fowls he contrasted his own prize-winning white leghorns,
with their well-built and ventilated pen, with its two large windows to
the south. He wondered how long they would have averaged four eggs
a day for the eight hens through the entire winter, if he had fed them
with only cold grain instead of carefully prepared feed, and had kept
them in such a cheerless home. No wonder his grandmother, who got
the money from the sale of the eggs, said chickens didn't pay, and that
the few eggs the hens did lay in the winter were usually frozen before
they could be collected.
He now joined his uncle and they began the annual cleaning of the cow
stable and barnyard. The stable was not hard work, although the long
corn stalks that were tramped deep into the floor were troublesome and
required much labor to pry loose. They finished the cleaning of the cow
stable by noon, but when they started on the barnyard in the afternoon
they found it was frozen almost solid, so they made slow headway and
Bob's arms and back ached from the unaccustomed heavy work.
"When shall I quit to do the milking?" he inquired, as he noticed the
sun getting low.

"Oh, we'll be knocking off pretty soon," was his uncle's indefinite
answer.
It was nearly six o'clock and getting dark when his uncle finally
decided they had done enough work for one day.
"Guess you'd better hustle, Bob," he said. "I didn't notice it was so late.
Your grandmother will wait supper for you."
Bob jumped down stiffly from the seat of the wagon and, after cleaning
his shoes, went to the house, as his uncle had directed, and washed up.
"Are you tired?" asked his grandmother, as he came into the kitchen
where she was busy cooking by lamp light. "Your Uncle Joe's starting
right in to have you do all the work on the farm in a day; he should
have let you stop an hour ago to do the milking."
Bob made no reply. He took his pails and lantern and started for the
barn. His hands were stiff and blistered from using the fork all day, and
it was with difficulty that he finished his task in the ill- smelling and
badly ventilated barn. His back ached, too, as he carried the pails to the
house.
"Why were you so long?" asked his uncle impatiently, as Bob entered.
"Your grandmother wouldn't let us eat till you came in, so I fed the
calves and pigs for you while we were waiting."
"At home, Uncle Joe," replied Bob, as they seated themselves at the
table, "we always milk at five o'clock and don't let anything else
interfere with it. Father says a cow should be milked early and
regularly."
"Well, Bob, your father's not a farmer, and if he wants you to quit in
the middle of the afternoon to milk your cow, you can do so, but we'll
milk ours after the day's work's done," was the stern answer.
"Probably that's the reason Gurney gives nearly as much milk as any
three of yours," replied Bob quietly, to which remark his