On churning days the children are exceedingly busy helping — so they fancy — to carry pails of buttermilk, scrub dishes etc. The golden butter is a sore temptation. Many times have their fingers to be slapped before they learn not to touch it.
They both come to the churning house with a biscuit on which mother spreads with her thumb some sweet crottles of butter straight from the churn. Ah! How delicious! But Brown Eyes got into disgrace to-day. Eager to assist in folding the paper neatly round each pound of butter, he patted one on top and left the mark of a small dirty thumb.
Before he had time to repent, he was taken gently by the shoulders and put out of the door, roaring like the very bull of whom he stands in awe. Here, however, in the sloppy churning house, he found Blue Eyes busy with a broom rather more than twice the length of herself. This was not to be endured. The sobs ceased instantly. He ran for the stable broom and brushed at the milky puddles till the hair lay in damp rings of gold on his forehead.