s quaint, honest fashion.

"You might ask him what makes cows give bitter milk," Willis whispered
to me, and laughed. "He's an old farmer."

"I should like to," said I, but I had no thoughts of doing so--when
suddenly Willis spoke up:

"Uncle Solon, there is a young fellow here who would like to ask you
what makes his cows give bitter milk this fall, but he is bashful."

"Haw! haw!" laughed Uncle Solon. "Wal, now, he needn't be bashful with
me, for like's not I can tell him. Like's not 'tis the bitterness in the
hearts o' people, that's got into the dumb critters."

Uncle Solon's eyes twinkled, and he laughed, as did everybody else.

"Or, like's not," he went on, "'tis something the critters has et.
Shouldn't wonder ef 'twas. What kind of a parster are them cows runnin'
in?"

Somewhat abashed, I explained, and described the pasture at the old
Squire's.

"How long ago did the milk begin to be bitter?"

"About three weeks ago."

"Any red oak in that parster?" asked Uncle Solon.

"Yes," I said. "Lots of red oaks, all round the borders of the woods."

"Wal, now, 'tis an acorn year," said Uncle Solon, reflectively. "I
dunno, but ye all know how bitter a red-oak acorn is. I shouldn't wonder
a mite ef your cows had taken to eatin' them oak acorns. Critters will,
sometimes. Mine did, once. Fust one will take it up, then the rest will
foller."

An approving chuckle at Uncle Solon's sagacity ran round, and some one
asked what could be done in such a case to stop the cows from eating the
acorns.

"Wal, I'll tell ye what I did," said Uncle Solon, his homely face
puckering in a reminiscent smile. "I went out airly in the mornin',
before I turned my cows to parster, and picked up the acorns under all
the oak-trees. I sot down on a rock, took a hammer and cracked them
green acorns, cracked 'em 'bout halfway open at the butt end. With my
left-hand thumb and forefinger, I held the cracked acorn open by
squeezing it, and with my right I dropped a pinch o' Cayenne pepper into
each acorn, then let 'em close up again.

"It took me as much as an hour to fix up all them acorns. Then I laid
them in little piles round under the trees, and turned out my cows. They
started for the oaks fust thing, for they had got a habit of going there
as soon as they were turned to parster in the morning. I stood by the
bars and watched to see what would happen."

Here a still broader smile overspread Uncle Solon's face. "Within ten
minutes