All that summer, with the unwelcome baby growing in her body, she was tart and irascible and closed herself up morosely from Jerry and his affairs. She showed no interest in his work in the field. She never asked him about his corn and tobacco or made any offer to help him. When he came in with a story of a broken plowshare, strayed cattle that had got into his corn, fences that the sheep had broken down, she showed no interest nor sympathy. In the chill of her indifference he too grew sullen and irritable.
"Seems like you might take a little interest in a man's troubles, Judy," he said sulkily. "Mammy allus did."
The mention of his mother did not tend to increase her good humor.
"I hain't yer durn mammy," she answered tartly. "An' mebbe you think I hain't got my own troubles to tend to."
She had never felt much sympathy for him in his ambition to save money and buy a home of their own. The thought of such a home had never made any very strong appeal to her. When Jerry had talked about his place, as he often did, she had tried to look interested. But oftener than not she caught herself thinking about something else. Jerry sensed with vague irritation the chill of her lack of sympathy.
Gradually her feeble interest had diminished like a thin cloud on a hot summer day. She no longer made any pretense of caring about the prospective home.
"You know durn well you'll never save enough money to buy a piece o' land," she said to him brutally. "Tenants never does. If you ever git a chanct to own a place it'll be when yer dad dies. That's the on'y way."
Her voice sounded bitingly hard, cold, and bitter. He looked at her reproachfully, like a dog that has been kicked.
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"What ever's got into you, Judy, to talk so hateful?"
She shrugged her shoulders and went on frying the inevitable corn cakes.
She grew more and more shiftless and slatternly about the house. More and more mechanically she dragged through the days. As she hung over the washtub or plunged the dasher up and down in the ancient oaken churn or stood by the stove frying three times a day the endlessly recurring corn cakes, her body moved with the dead automatic rhythm of old habit. Her face was habitually sullen and heavy, her eyes glazed and turned inward or looking out upon vacancy with an abstracted stare.
In October the baby was born.
It was a girl this time, a skinny little mite weighing not much more than five pounds. Judith had very little milk for it, and their one cow was nearly dry; so Jerry began to look around to see where he could get another cow cheap and on time.
One Sunday morning when they had overslept they were wakened by a light tap at the window and Uncle Sam Whitmarsh's genial voice penetrated their drowsiness.
"Waal, naow, if you two hadn't otter think shame to yerse'ves sluggin' abed with the sun a-shinin' an' the crows a-cawin' outside. Why, it's most seven o'clock, an' the whole countryside been up an' about this two hours. It's queer, too, what things'll happen to some while others sleeps." Uncle Sam's voice took on a serious if not tragic tone. "While you two was a-sleepin' here like babes, she's bin a-turnin' me out o' my home. Yaas, sir, already here afore breakfast she's up an' slammed the door in my face. Whatcha think o' sech carryin's on? Turnin' a old man past seventy, the father o' nine chillun, out o' the home that he's worked an' slaved to keep a-goin' this past thirty year an' more! I ast you, Jerry, if I hain't put more work onto that place'n what the place is woth a dozen times over? An' all 'cause she's got the deed to it in her name she shets the door in my face. I hain't a-goin' to stand fer sech goin's on no longer. I hain't no dirty dawg to
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 be kicked outdoors when he gits underfoot an' whistled back when they want the caows brung home. Yaas, sir, Samuel Ziemer Whitmarsh is a old man; but he hain't a-needin' no repairs put on him yet; an' I reckon there hain't many young fellers kin learn him much about tradin' an' fetchin' in the money when it's needed. Nex' time she looks to me fer money, she's a-goin' to find it's buyin' some other woman a bonnet. An', speakin' o' tradin', Jerry, I hearn you was a-needin' a fresh caow fer Judy an' the baby, an' it jes comes lucky I kin lay my hands on the very caow to suit yuh. She's a nice black fam'ly caow, eight year old no more, a easy milker an' fills the bucket. She's got a purty red calf by her side, an' the calf goes along with her. She's yourn, calf an' all, fer sixty dollars. I don't ast fer no cash, jes a little note comin' due in three months' time an' you kin pay me when you sell yer terbaccer. Whatcha say?"
"I'll be over to have a look at her, Uncle Sam," said Jerry, stretching his arms above his head. "Got her at Uncle Amos's place?"
"Yaas, she'll be in Amos's barnyard. Come early afore somebody else grabs her up. Waal, I'll be steppin'."
"Is this the eighth time she's turned him out, or the ninth?" yawned Judith, as she slipped her petticoat over her head. "Funny haow he allus says exactly the same things. An' then when she's minded to take him back he goes back jes like a little lamb."
"I wonder what's wrong with the caow?" mused Jerry.
After breakfast he went over to see the cow and came back about noon leading her. She was a tall, slimly built cow with a long neck. The calf ran alongside.
"I think she's a purty good buy, Judy," he said, as they stood inspecting her. "'Course she hain't none too young; but she seems sound an' healthy an' she looks like a good milker. An' then most people that has caows to sell jes naow wants cash. It's sumpin to be able to git her on time. Uncle Sam hain't a stingy ole skinflint neither. He gimme this good rope an' halter. She seems cheap, calf an' all. Mebbe there's
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 sumpin wrong with her. If there is I s'pose we'll find it out soon enough."
They found it out next day. In the morning when Judith went out to milk her, her teats were as flat and flabby as if the calf had just sucked her dry. The calf was tied in the shed and had not been with her. When Judith came back into the kitchen Jerry was dumbfounded at the sight of the empty bucket.
"Well, I'll be damned," he said, and stood scratching his head in perplexity. Then his face brightened with an idea. "I tell you, Judy, I'll bet she sucks herse'f. She's got the build of a caow that kin do it............