iveled
out of him. He lay there absolutely without any power of motion in his
body.

Just then the crew of the Sea Eagle became aware of the fact that a
horned animal with big brown eyes was looking at them. All the farmer in
the nature of Captain Broom came to the surface.

"By Gum," he exclaimed, "if here ain't a bovine cow looking at us. I
ain't milked one for forty years, but I'm not afeard to try. 'Member,
Pete, when we used to milk the cows back in old Connecticut on the farm.
After working in the hay all day, I'd go down in the side hill pasture,
that was so steep that you had to hold on with your toes and your teeth
to keep from sliding down to the brook."

"You bring it back to me just like it was a living picture," said Pete,
his hard face softening under the gentle showers of memory.

"Then I'd drive the black and white one that was breechy, and the red
mooley, the yaller and white that gave the richest milk. I'd drive them
into the stanchions in the old barn, with the ground floor stoned up on
the side, where it was sunk into the hill."

"But it was winter, Cap'n," said Pete, "that it was interesting doing
the chores," and he blew reminiscently on his fingers, "snow two feet on
the level and the sun a piece of blue ice in the sky. A condemned sight
better place than Californey, where you don't feel no more alive than a
enbalmed corpse."

The Captain began now a series of manoeuvres to get within range of
one of the cows so that they might have fresh milk for breakfast. He
managed it finally, and he certainly looked like a peaceful old farmer
as with his gray head against a fat red cow's flank, he milked into a
large tin cup. Pete selected a black mooley and soothed by the man's
persuasive manner, she consented finally to give down a thin blue
stream. But the saturnine mate was less successful as he knew much more
about navigating a ship than he did about cows.

Finally after much awkward manoeuvring, he got a cow cornered and
began operations upon the left side with the result that the cow landed
upon him with her hoof and sent him sprawling on his back to the great
delight of the Captain.

"Hurt bad, Bill?" inquired the Skipper with mock sympathy, "I'm afeard
that you will never make a farmer."

"I never calkerlated to," replied the mate. "It ain't my line of
business."

"Don't tell me that," said the Captain, "I can see that for myself. Come
up here and I'll give you a drink."

They had scar