The luxury of having fresh milk, cream, and butter, may be enjoyed by every family in city, town, or hamlet, that can provide a cow with the necessaries expressed in one word—comfort. To show what may be done in this respect, allow me to give somewhat of the history of Joseph Earnest. Joseph’s father was a carpenter, and never kept a horse or cow. After giving his son the best education he could receive at the common school, he kept him at work with himself until Joseph also became a master carpenter. At the time our story commences, he is married and has a family of three children, a girl of eight, a boy of six years, and a baby. By industry, economy, and good habits, he had accumulated sufficient means to purchase a half-acre lot in the outskirts of a flourishing manufacturing town. Upon this lot he had built a small but comfortable house. His wife, the daughter of a well-to-do farmer, having a little property of her own, invested it in the vacant lot adjoining them. The winter previous Joseph had put up a building which was to serve the double purpose of barn and workshop. The barn for his visiting friends, the workshop for himself. Back of this building, and adjacent to it, was a small hennery in which were kept a few fowls; at one side was a shed for his gardening implements. Everything about the premises showed the owner was neat and orderly, as well as thrifty, while within the snug cottage the same virtues reigned supreme. Many a time did Mary look back to the old home-life on the farm, and think of the plentiful products of the dairy. Then she would say to Joseph, “How I wish we could keep a cow. It seems as though I cannot half cook with only one quart of milk a day, and the children would be so much healthier if they could have what milk they want.” Joseph agreed with her, and would add, “But you know Mary we cannot raise our own vegetables and fruit, and keep a cow, with only one acre of land.” Imagine her surprise, when, after a short absence one morning, Joseph returned leading a cow. He was soon surrounded by his family and plied with questions, such as: Whose is she? Where did you get her? What will you do with her? In answer to these questions Joseph replied, “I went over to Mr. Durham’s this morning, to see if he could pay me what was back on the work I did for him last fall. I found him feeding his cattle and made known my errand. He said he had no money at present, but was wanting to sell a cow, and as soon as he could would pay me. I asked him which cow he wanted to sell; he pointed out this one, which was smaller than the others and seemed driven by them. Not a very large cow, he said, but young, with some Jersey blood in her—better for a family cow than for a factory cow. I say Earnest, she is just what you need, with your family. But I’ve no place to put her, said I, and I don’t know how to take care of a cow. Nonsense, said he, put her in your stable