e these things just right;
and if not just right, they are horrid." That is true; it takes an
artist or a mother to fry salt pork and make milk gravy.

There were other things on the table,--quantities of bread and butter,
apple sauce (in a dish that would hold half a peck), stacks of fresh
ginger-bread, tea, and great pitchers of milk; but naught could distract
my attention from the _piece de resistance_. Thrice I sent my plate
back, and then could do no more. That meal convinced me that I could
trust Mrs. Thompson. A woman who could fry salt pork as my mother did,
was a woman to be treasured.

I left the farm-house at 7, and reached home by 8.45. Polly was not
quite pleased with my late hours; she said it did not worry her not to
know where I was, but it was annoying.

"Can't you have a telephone put into the farm-house? It would be
convenient in a lot of ways."

"Why, of course; I don't see why it can't be done at once. I'll make
application this very night."

It was six weeks before we really got a wire to the farm, but after that
we wondered how we ever got along without it.

CHAPTER XX

A RATION FOR PRODUCT

Nelson was to commence work on the cow-house at once; at least, the
mason was. I left the job as a whole to Nelson, and he made some sort of
contract with the mason. The agreement was that I should pay $4260 for
the barn complete. The machinery we put into it was very simple,--a
water heater and two cauldrons for cooking food. All three cost about
$60.

Thompson had selected six cows, from those bought with the place, as
worth wintering. They were now giving from six to eight quarts each, and
were due to come in in April and May. An eight-quart-a-day cow was not
much to my liking, but Thompson said that with good care they would do
better in the spring. "Four of those cows ought to make fine milkers,"
he said; "they are built for it,--long bodies, big bags, milk veins that
stand out like crooked welts, light shoulders, slender necks, and lean
heads. They are young, too; and if you'll dehorn them, I believe they'll
make your thoroughbreds hump themselves to keep up with them at the milk
pail. You see, these cows never had more than half a chance to show
what they could do. They have never been 'fed for milk.' Farmers don't
do that much. They think that if a cow doesn't bawl for food or drink
she has enough. I suppose she has enough to keep her from starving, and
perhaps enough to hold her in