n Bob Trotter came in sight,
all his pockets standing out with nuts. They called him. Sarah Ketchum
explained the situation and asked him if he could milk.

"I do the milkin' at 'ome," Bob replied.

"Wont you please milk this cow for us? We don't know how, and we want
the milk for dinner."

There came a comical look into Bob's face, but he said nothing. The
eight knew what his thoughts must be.

"We oughtn't to have said that you couldn't have any of our lunch,"
said Sarah Ketchum.

"We didn't really mean it," said Clara. "When lunch-time came we would
have given you lots of good things."

"That's so," said Dick. "Sarah told us an hour ago that she meant to
give you her snow-ball cake because she felt compuncted."

By this time Bob had approached the cow. He spoke some kind words
close to her broad ear, and gently stroked her back and flanks. Then
he set to work in the proper way, forcing the milk in streams into the
cup, the boys watching with admiration Bob's ease and expertness, Dick
wondering why he couldn't do what seemed so easy. In a few seconds the
cup was filled.

"Now, what're you going to do?" said Bob. "This wont be a taste
around."

"You might milk into our hats," said Julius.

"I've got a thimble in my pocket," said Sarah Ketchum.

"Do stop your nonsense," said Constance; "it's a very serious
question--a life and death matter. We're a company of Crusoes."

But the boys couldn't stop their nonsense immediately. Dick remarked
that if the cow had not licked out the jelly-bowl and then kicked it
to pieces it might have been utilized. Then some one remembered a
tin water-pail at the wagon. This was brought, and Bob soon had it
two-thirds filled with milk. Then the question arose as to how they
were all to be served with just that quart-cup and two spoons. They
were to take turns, two eating at a time.

"I don't want to eat with Jule," Dick said. "He eats too fast."

The young people paired off, leaving out Bob. Then they all looked at
him in a shame-faced, apologetic way.

"You needn't mind me," said Bob, interpreting their glances. "I don't
want to heat with none of you. I've got some wittals down to the
wagon."

"Why, what have you got?" said Sarah Ketchum. She felt cheap, and so
did the others.

"Some boiled heggs and some happles and some raw turnups," said Bob.

Eight mouths watered at this catalogue. Sarah Ketchum whispered:

"For a generous slice of turnip,
I'd lay me down a