"There's that shorthorned Sally," she said, as they entered the Home
Close, and she caught sight of the meek beast that lay chewing the cud
and looking at her with a sleepy eye. "I begin to hate the sight o' the
cow; and I say now what I said three weeks ago, the sooner we get rid of
her the better, for there's that little yallow cow as doesn't give half
the milk, and yet I've twice as much butter from her."
"Why, thee't not like the women in general," said Mr. Poyser; "they like
the shorthorns, as give such a lot o' milk. There's Chowne's wife wants
him to buy no other sort."
"What's it sinnify what Chowne's wife likes? A poor soft thing, wi' no
more head-piece nor a sparrow. She'd take a big cullender to strain
her lard wi', and then wonder as the scratchin's run through. I've
seen enough of her to know as I'll niver take a servant from her house
again--all hugger-mugger--and you'd niver know, when you went in,
whether it was Monday or Friday, the wash draggin' on to th' end o' the
week; and as for her cheese, I know well enough it rose like a loaf in
a tin last year. And then she talks o' the weather bein' i' fault, as
there's folks 'ud stand on their heads and then say the fault was i'
their boots."
"Well, Chowne's been wanting to buy Sally, so we can get rid of her if
thee lik'st," said Mr.
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