As the water in the well was hard, rain water was used for washing, except in winter, when the barrels were frozen solidly. The early spring rains had filled the barrels again, but as the night had been cold, ice had frozen over the top. His uncle had been to the barrel ahead of him and broken the ice, so he dipped up the basin full of water, and placing it on a bench on the porch, washed his face and hands. Above the wash bench, summer and winter, hung the roller towel, and near by the mirror and family horn comb. In the dark the mirror was of doubtful use, but with a few well-directed strokes of the comb he managed to get a semblance, at least, of neatness to his hair. He shivered a little as he finished--just as his uncle appeared, milk pails and lantern in hand. "I want you to do the milking from now on, Bob, for it's not the kind of work a woman should do," said his uncle, and handing him the pails, they started for the barn. "You're right, Uncle Joe," replied Bob. "I always milked our cow at home so mother wouldn't have to do it; besides, it doesn't take so very long." Bob had been taught to take good care of the family cow--a well-bred Guernsey, whose stable had a good cement floor and was neatly whitewashed. Once or twice a week he would curry-comb and brush her from nose to tail. Nothing gave him greater pride than to have his father bring some one unexpectedly into the stable to look at his charge and comment on the clean manner in which both stable and cow were kept. His mother sold the milk they did not need for their own use, and had no trouble in getting two cents a quart more than the regular price--partly on account of the cow being so well bred and giving rich milk, but principally on account of the reputation the clean stable had made in the village. The cow barn that Bob now entered was built under a portion of the main barn, adjacent to the thrashing floor, and was dark, even in the daylight. The earthen floor was foul with neglect. The cows, instead of being secured in separate stalls with stanchions, were chained up in a row to a long, old-fashioned manger. Upon entering, Bob's uncle hung up the lantern; then, seeing Bob look around and hesitate, asked: "What are you looking for, Bob?" "I was looking for a fork to clean the stable. I always clean the stable and brush off the cow at home before milking," he replied. "Well, I guess you're a little late to start that here," laughed his uncle. "Never mind the floor; we'll back the wagon in here after breakfast and give it a good cleaning." "All right, Uncle Joe; but where's the brush?" asked Bob. "Brush! What brush?" asked his uncle. "Why, don't you brush off the cows each morning before you milk them?" asked Bob. "Father always insisted that I brush Gurney each morning."