"Tavy, dear, that only goes to prove you are a mere man; a dear one to be sure--but then! Don't you flatter yourself for one moment that you, or any other man, really know any creature of the feminine gender from a woman to a cow. You simply can't, Tavy, because you aren't feminine. _Can_ you comprehend that? Can you say on your honor as a man that you have ever been able to tell for certain what Mrs. Champney, or Hannah, or I, for instance, or this cow, or the cat, or Bellona, when she hasn't been ridden enough, or the old white hen you've been trying to force to sit the last two weeks, is going to do next? Now, honor bright, have you?" Octavius was grumbling some reply inaudible to Champney. "No, of course you haven't; and what's more you never will. Not that it's your fault, Tavy, dear, it's only your misfortune." Exasperating patronage was audible in her voice. Champney noted that a trace of the rich Irish brogue was left. "Here, give me that pail." "I tell you, Aileen, you can't do it; you've never learned to milk." "Oh, haven't I? Look here, Tave, now no more nonsense; Romanzo taught me how two years ago--but we both took care you shouldn't know anything about it. Give me that pail." This demand was peremptory. Evidently Octavius was weakening, for Champney heard again the rattle of the pails and the stool; then a swish of starched petticoat and a cooing "There, there, Bess." He opened the gate noiselessly and closing it behind him walked down the lane. The golden light of the June sunset was barred, where it lay upon the brilliant green of the young grass, with the long shadows of the apple-tree trunks. He looked between the thick foliage of the low-hanging branches to the milking shed. The two were there. Octavius was looking on dubiously; Aileen was coaxing the giant Holstein mother to stand aside at a more convenient angle for milking. "Hold her tail, Tave," was the next command. She seated herself on the stool and laid her cheek against the warm, shining black flank; her hands manipulated the rosy teats; then she began to sing: "O what are you seeking my pretty colleen, So sadly, tell me now!"-- "O'er mountain and plain I'm searching in vain Kind sir, for my Kerry cow." The milk, now drumming steadily into the pail, served for a running accompaniment to the next verses. "Is she black as the night with a star of white Above her bonny brow? And as clever to clear The dykes as a deer?"-- "That's just my own Kerry cow." "Then cast your eye into that field of wheat She's there as large as life."-- "My bitter disgrace! Howe'er shall I face The farmer and his wife?"