LETTERS FROM LITTLE FOLKS.

Otago Witness, Issue 2090, 15 March 1894, Page 45

LETTERS FROM LITTLE FOLKS.

Dear Dot, — Here I am again, in black on white, to tell you the farm news from Chatton. We are milking 23 cows now, the most we have milked this season, but, sad to say, we are getj ting less milk now than when we milked 18 cows. We have a cow called Snowy, which has six teats, all giving milk. We have another cow called Spotty, which has had one of her teats torn open by barbed wire, and all the milk from that teat runs to waste. We have another cow called Beauty, which never allows herself to be leg-roped. As soon as she feels the rope on she lifts the leg and shakes it till the rope drops off ; we always milk her without a rope, and she stands very quiet. My sister Mary Ann milks seven cows, I six, and father and mother five each. In summer we get up at 4- o'clock in the morning. Father fetches the cows slowly towards the yards, Mary Ann heading them towards the yards. After they are yarded wo fill the 12 covered-in bails and start milking. As the cows are milked they are turned out and the bails refilled with unmilked ones until they are all milked. As each cow is milked the pail is emptied through a strainer into a big milk can, which stands on a stand about 3ft high with steps to get up. This makes it easier to lift the full, heavy caus into the cart. The evening's milk has always to be stirred about two hours after milking to keep the cream from rising. Last week, when the Okapua creek was bank high, our big buil jumped into the creek and swam at the risk of his life to the other side for better feed. The cows could not get across, so they were on short allowance for g. day. When strangers come among the cows the big bull sets up a roar as if to defend them, but as soon as father calls out to him he is quiet. He knows father's voice. We have a smaller bull, which sometimes makes a terrible noise, bellowing and stamping the ground, but the big one keeps him in order. You never can trust these bulls. The worst in dairying is tho early rising and that there is no Sunday rest. In wet weather I put a -big woollen rug over my head and shoulders to keep myself warm and dry. The water running down the sides of the cows and the sloppy state of the yard makes it very unpleasaut. But it pays, and dirty work makes clean money. Some farmers could not have held their places had it not been for the factory. Last week father bought a young pig ; when passing through the garden in the evening he saw young piggy at a low branch of an apple tree, munchiug away at eight of our best apples. Father Ba}s that young rascal of -a pig will climb to thes top of the trees yet, and will eat every apple and plumb about the place. He is j

worse than a bad boy. We have kept that young porker out of the garden since that. We all like the Witness. As soon as we get it I look first of all for the little folks' letters, then for the riddles, then the Ladies' Page, then for the accidents and small tales. The big novel I scarcely understand properly, as it ib too long. Mother says novels are not good for young girls, as they are not founded on real life, and put wrong notions into a girl's head. Mother says that if Laura, the young lawyer's wife in "His Will and Hers," was a daughter of hers, she would give her a good talking to for the shameless and heartless manner in which she left her kind, good husband ; and as for Sir Ralph, she thinks him an idle loafer without one single redeeming feature in his character. We girls also read the cheap drapery advertisements, and often look at Messrs StewartDa wson's jewellery advertisement plate. Gaess what ornament I like best on that plate. No. 505— the nuptial brooch. Is it not beautiful ? —two hearts united for ever. I wish I had the money to buy that brooch. Some of my acquaintances have doubted my courage, as I said in my last letter that I always put the legrope on and was afraid of kicks, but they forget that there are plenty big people who do the same. When a cow is very quiet, even I milk her without a leg-rope — Old Beauty, for example, who will not stand any other way. There are plenty of grown-up people frightened at a thunderstorm, while I and my sisters actually enjoy it. The louder the thunder and the brighter the flashes, the better we like it. People say it is safest outside in a storm. I heard of a young married woman in this district who, on the approach of a storm, when Bhe finds herself alone at home, just takeß up her baby, locks the door, and runs away to her mother's farm, about a mile and a-half distant. A few weeks ago the lightning killed two horses here at one stroke on a Black Hill farm. It also killed a number of sheep on another farm. The only thing I am very much frightened of is a mouse. Sometimes a mouse finds its way into our cupboard. My sister Mary Ann fixes up a trap out of a breadcrusfc and a cup. The mouse gnaws the crust, and down comes the cup over the mouse. The difficulty after that is to get the mouse from under the cup without it escaping. I generally jump on a chair or sofa for safety, and my sister Mary Ann, who has the courage of a lion, deliberately takes hold of the tail of the mouse, which generally sticks out from underneath the cup, liftßthe little beastie up by the tail, calls puss, and the cat has a fine sapper for that evening. I left school several months ago, after passing the Sixth Standard. Mother thinks I know enough for a farmer's daughter. I am past 14- years now. If lam getting too old and big for the little folks' letters, you must let me know, and my sister Annie, who iB nearly 12 years old, and promises to be a smart milker, can take up the correspondence. Some children send you nice tales and riddles. I think I will send you a useful prescription. Question : What is the safest remedy to care a dog from eating eggs ? Answer : Cat his tail off behind the ears. I will bet any boy or girl half a dozen oranges that this is a surer and sarer cure than even Warner's Safe Cure. This letter is long again, and yet I have not told half my news. Farewell, dear Dot; oaf Wiedersehn (German for " I hope to see you again ").— Yours truly, Maggie Qehken. Chatton, Match 3. [No, Maggie, you are not a bit too big to write for the Little Folks' Page, and I hope it will be a long time before you consider yourself too old to do so. Your letters are entirely original, and if the little folks take as much pleasure in reading them as I do, they would all be very sorry indeed were you to desert us. I feel very much .inclined to send your letter home to Miss Dora Russell, to let her see what a colonial mother thinks of Laura. — Dot.] Dear Dot, — I am a fine old Bullock, and my name is Tan. I live at False Islet, Catlins river, and my master is very good to me. Only one thing he does I don't like. lam a working Bullock, and sometimes my master thinks the boys work me too much, and then he will tether mo. That is what I don't like ; but I am pretty cunning, and I nearly always break my tether rope and get away. My master has got a little daughter who is only two yearß old, and she often crieß to get a ride on my back. Dear Dot, I am a very handsome Bullock, and I have very pretty horns. I fever you come to Catlins River you might come down to False Islet and see me, and I will give you aride aloDg the beach on my back. I can carry a lady very well, so long as she is not too big. I don't think you are too big, or they would not call you Dot. I could write a lot of letters as long as this. I often hear my master say if I could speak I could tell many a tale ; so I could, but although I can't speak I can write, and if you will oblige me by putting this in your little folks' corner I might write again and tell you about some of my troubles. — Youra truly, Tan. Dear Dot,— We started harvest last Monday. We have a little heifer calf; please will you give me a name for her. We have four weeks holidays. — Yours truly, Matthew Bradshaw (aged 11 years). Danrobin, February 23. [Call her Robina. — Dot.] Dear Dot,— You must excuse my writing, for I expect it is not very good. I got my arm put out of joint and a small bone broken just about Christmas by a fall from a horse. It was terribly painful, bub we never thought there was a bone broken. My father put my arm right, but we did not have it bound up properly and it slipped out of joint again. As it did not get better we began to think there must be something wrong, and finally, after it had been done about five weeks, I had to go to a doctor and get the bone broken over again, and the arm set uuder chloroform. It wa3 a horrible sen atioD, and I should not like to go through it again. I had to stay with an aunt near town for a week or two, bo that tho doctor could see my arm every now and then ; and while I was there Auntie Annie came in and took me to the Caledonian sports. Although I had my arm in a sling I enjoyed myself immensely. It was the first time I had been to anything of the kind, or even heard the pipes. Annie told me she thought I might nob like them, but I did. Uncle Will says he could libten to 20 of them playing round him, and never get tired of them. So conld I. I liked the danciDg very much. There were three men in kilts, and four children, in Highland cosbume likewise, who danced a reel. All the dancers who had taken a prize repeated their performance at the concert at night. Of all the dancing I like that of a Mr Stuart, who came from Hawke's Bay, by far the best. He seemed to be the lightest on his feet. An old Scot, who stood behind us at ther sports said just as Mr Stuart was about to begin, " Now' you see that Mlow shake his toes ! " He was very jolly. At the concert when he danced he S* d ? t£ c audience roar with laughter. My Uncle Wi 1 knows him well. Will was at the concert, although he did not go to the sports. He Paw Mr Stuart after it was over. Except tor the dancing, I did not like the concert much.