"Well," she said to herself at last, "the upshot of it all is, he's given Sarah Maria notice. I wonder if he will give me notice next?" She walked slowly into the kitchen, where a stout, red-faced woman was at work. "Bridget," she said, "can you milk?" "Shure I kin; an' why?" "Because Mr. Loveland won't milk Sarah Maria any more." "No more wud I, an' he's stud it so long. Shure he's been loike a lamb beside her, an' she hookin' him full o' holes till his poor body cud be used for a sieve." "Oh, what shall I do!" cried Nannie pettishly. "You're all of you as mean as you can be! I won't sell her for beef! I just won't!" "No more you needn't, me darlint! There, now, don't take on so. Shure it's mesilf'll manage it wid yez somehow, though it's loike the both of us will nade the praste an' extrame unction before we're t'rough wid her." Nothing daunted Nannie sallied forth, followed by Bridget, who grumbled all the way. "Faith, in ould Oireland it's mesilf milked twinty cows at wan sittin', an' they standin' forninst me widout a word loike lambs till I was ready fer the nixt wan." "Well, now, that's great!" interrupted Nannie. "Steve has left her right out here. I wonder why he did that?" Mrs. Maria stared fixedly at her, once in awhile tossing her horns. There was a glare in her eye, by the light of which one might read her thoughts. "Just here," she was saying to herself, "Steve and I fought to a finish, and I saw the last of him as he flew through yonder window." "Set a pail of food forninst her now, Miss Nannie, an' she'll run to the cow-yard," called Bridget. This ruse proved successful. As soon as she saw the food the delighted Sarah kicked up her heels and, flourishing her head in such a manner that it seemed to comprehend everything in its wide swath, ran into the cow-yard, where Nannie skillfully lassoed her and tied her to the fence just as she plunged her nose into the pail. Meanwhile Bridget, terrified by these lively humors, had started toward the house, and her desire for speed exceeding her physical ability, she soon measured her length upon the ground, where she lay, roaring lustily, under the impression that the enemy was upon her. "What are you howling for, you old goose?" shouted Nannie. "It's the cow!" screamed Bridget. "Take her off! Oh, howly Mither! I'm kilt entirely." "The cow is half a mile from you!" laughed Nannie. "She didn't even look toward you." "Shure I felt her horns go into me back, an' as the saints live in glory, I see thim come out at me brist." "Well, I wish I could see you come out at the cow-yard with that milk pail." Bridget picked up her pieces, put herself together, and discontentedly ambled toward the cow-yard, averring that in spite of all Nannie might say, she knew she had a hole an inch wide in her left lung; she could feel the wind whistle through it. "There's nothing the matter with your lungs," said Nannie, "as all the neighborhood knows by this time."