Perhaps this was one of
them. I would try another. Removing the stool to the side of another
meek-looking animal, I essayed to milk _her_. But she switched her
tail in my face, lifting a menacing, horrid hoof. "_Soh, bossy!_"
cried I. "Pretty, _pretty_ cow that makes pleasant milk to soak my
bread." In another moment I was seated flat upon the ground, while my
pretty, pretty cow capered wildly among the rest, so agitating them
that, thinking discretion the better part of valor, I hastily climbed
over the fence at the point nearest to me and returned to the kitchen.
What should I do now? Perhaps one of the decrepit nurses left in the
ward knew how to milk. But no, they did not, except one poor, limping
rheumatic who could only use one hand. Just then a feeble-looking
patient from the Bragg Hospital came tottering along. He also knew how
to milk, and they both, volunteered to try. Much to my surprise and
delight, the cows now behaved beautifully, perhaps owing to the fact
that, obeying the injunctions of my two recruits, I provided each with
a bundle of fodder to distract their attention during the milking
process. There was more milk than I could possibly use, as nearly all
the convalescents were absent.
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