Somebody suggested that Bob Trotter had brought some hay and corn for his horses.  Dick proposed that Julius should go for some.  Julius proposed that Dick should go.  Valentine offered to bring it, and brought it—­some corn in a basket.

“Suke!  Suke, Bossy!  Suke, Bossy!  Suke!” Dick yelled as though the cow had been two hundred feet off instead of ten.  He held out the basket.  She came forward, sniffed at the corn, threw up her lip and took a bite.  Dick set the basket under her nose and hastened to put himself in milking position.  But that was the end of it.  He could not milk a drop.

“I can’t get the hang of the thing,” he said.

“Let me try,” said Kit.

Dick gave way, and Kit pulled and squeezed and tugged and twisted, while the others shouted with laughter.

“I believe she’s gone dry,” said Kit, very red in the face.  At this the laughers laughed anew.

“Some of you who are so good at laughing had better try.”

Kit set the cup on a stump and retired.

Sarah Ketchum tried to persuade everybody else to try, but the other boys were afraid of failure and the girls were afraid of the cow.  Sarah said if somebody would hold the animal’s head so that it couldn’t hook, she’d milk—­she knew she could.  But nobody offered to take the cow by the horns; so everything came to a stand-still except Sarah’s talking and the cow’s eating.  Then Bob Trotter came in sight, all his pockets standing out with nuts.  They called him.  Sarah Ketchum explained the situation and asked him if he could milk.

“I do the milkin’ at ’ome,” Bob replied.

“Wont you please milk this cow for us?  We don’t know how, and we want the milk for dinner.”

There came a comical look into Bob’s face, but he said nothing.  The eight knew what his thoughts must be.

“We oughtn’t to have said that you couldn’t have any of our lunch,” said Sarah Ketchum.

“We didn’t really mean it,” said Clara.  “When lunch-time came we would have given you lots of good things.”

“That’s so,” said Dick.  “Sarah told us an hour ago that she meant to give you her snow-ball cake because she felt compuncted.”

By this time Bob had approached the cow.  He spoke some kind words close to her broad ear, and gently stroked her back and flanks.  Then he set to work in the proper way, forcing the milk in streams into the cup, the boys watching with admiration Bob’s ease and expertness, Dick wondering why he couldn’t do what seemed so easy.  In a few seconds the cup was filled.

“Now, what’re you going to do?” said Bob.  “This wont be a taste around.”

“You might milk into our hats,” said Julius.

“I’ve got a thimble in my pocket,” said Sarah Ketchum.

“Do stop your nonsense,” said Constance; “it’s a very serious question—­a life and death matter.  We’re a company of Crusoes.”

But the boys couldn’t stop their nonsense immediately.  Dick remarked that if the cow had not licked out the jelly-bowl and then kicked it to pieces it might have been utilized.  Then some one remembered a tin water-pail at the wagon.  This was brought, and Bob soon had it two-thirds filled with milk.  Then the question arose as to how they were all to be served with just that quart-cup and two spoons.  They were to take turns, two eating at a time.