t
glistening tears splashed right into the hole made for the dasher, and
rolled into the milk.

Billy grew interested at once and laughed aloud; he puckered up his
face and tried to weep again, for he wanted more tears to fall into the
churn; but the tears refused to come and he couldn't squeeze another one
out of his eyes.

"Aunt Minerva," he said mischievously, "I done ruint yo' buttermilk."

"What have you done?" she inquired.

"It's done ruint," he replied, "you'll hafter th'ow it away; 't ain't
fitten fer nothin.' I done cried 'bout a bucketful in it."

"Why did you cry?" asked Miss Minerva calmly. "Don't you like to work?"

"Yes 'm, I jes' loves to work; I wish I had time to work all the time.
But it makes my belly ache to churn,--I got a awful pain right now."

"Churn on!" she commanded unsympathetically.

He grabbed the dasher and churned vigorously for one minute.

"I reckon the butter's done come," he announced, resting from his
labors.

"It hasn't begun to come yet," replied the exasperated woman. "Don't
waste so much time, William."

The child churned in silence for the space of two minutes, and
suggested: "It's time to put hot water in it; Aunt Cindy always puts hot
water in it. Lemme git some fer you."

"I never put hot water in my milk," said she, "it makes the butter
puffy. Work more and talk less, William."

Again there was a brief silence, broken only by the sound of the dasher
thumping against the bottom of the churn, and the rattle of the dishes.

"I sho' is tired," he presently remarked, heaving a deep sigh. "My
arms is 'bout give out, Aunt Minerva. Ole Aunt Blue-Gum Tempy's Peruny
Pearline see a man churn with his toes; lemme git a chair an' see if I
can't churn with my toes."

"Indeed you shall not," responded his annoyed relative positively.

"Sanctified Sophy knowed a colored 'oman what had a little dog went
roun' an' roun' an' churn fer her," remarked Billy after a short pause.
"If you had a billy goat or a little nanny I could hitch him to the
churn fer you ev'ry day."

"William," commanded his aunt, "don't say another word until you have
finished your work."

"Can't I sing?" he asked.

She nodded permission as she went through the open door into the
dining-room.

Returning a few minutes later she found him sitting astride the churn,
using the dasher so vigorously that buttermilk was splashing in every
direction, and singing in a clear, sweet voice:

"He'll feed