The weekly Shasta courier., 1873-10-04

Mrs. Mayne, said the lover, how
long does it take to bring the butter with
this churn, may ask?"
Just thirty minutes, sir"
"very well when you are ready. blow
the horn, if you please. shall be down at
the brook. will bring you as much butter
in a quarter of the time. Let me have a
gallon of cream in the stone crock"
"In the crock? Do you want to smash
it?" cried the wondering woman.
mot bit. want to gill it with butter
You shall have it, Mr.. Monteith as
good sweet cream"
"Mother!" cried the farmer.
"Now, Mr.. Mayne!" said his wife. al
am not one of those that want to call down
plague by copying the Egyptians, and
shan't set anybody to making bricks without
straw"
g In the fairy stories that l have read,
Mr.. Mayne," said Monteith, laughing, "al-
though there was always fairy godmother
to step in in the nick of time, the victim
was never set to spin gold without straw"
And the man that's working for my
daughter must have his tools! I" declared
Mrs. Mayne, as finality.
"Oh, that's right" said the farmer. "Do
all you can to help throw her away!"
You'll be on hand to time us, Mr..
Mayne ?" said the determined lover
iii time you with vengeance !" cried
the farmer, with bitter sort of grin-for
he already enjoyed the defeat of the rash
man who was going to bring butter quicker
than his wife could. And as for Rosy, she
ran away to roll up the sleeves from her
dimped arms, to wash her hands, and to
have good cry.
But when the horn blew, Mr. Monteith
was seen coming up from the brook with
two old pieces of tin that he had been
cleaning and polishing down there: one of
these pieces was the bottom of tin steam
er that had been torn off long ago, and
through whose centre he had punched a
larger hole than any. already there; the 9TH
er was that spout and rose of a watering
pot which Rosy had been idly holding in
her hand. The farmer, sitting on high
threelegged STOOL looked on with com
Portable sense of satire. "He has come up
like those old heather who supposed they
would frighten off their enemies by the
flashing of tin-ware and the beating of
stones" he thought. That's no way to
make butter, though, and the beggar amt
going to get my Rosy. You won't kill
Goliah with pebble, this time, young sir!'
Mrs. Mayne had set out the crock of
cream, and Rosy stood by, grave and pale,
having had her cry out for though she
knew her father was a man of his word, and
would not attempt to gainsay it if Mr.. Mon
telth were successful, yet for the life of her
she could not see how butter was to be
made with two old pieces of broken tin.
She would have been glad to hang weights
on her mothers arms, but Mrs. Mayne would
certainly have shaken them off, for she
knew there was some reason in her husband g
objections, and having given the contestant
fair play, she meant that he should earn his
prize if he had it; and Mr.. Mayne himself
would as soon have looked for snow in Au-
gust as for his wife to palter or deceive in
any matter.
Rosy, bring me the bellows from the
best room" said MIR. Monteith, calmly.
And when she came back with that imple-
ment he had passed the broken spout of the
the watering pot through the hole punched
in the centre of the torn steamer, had fitted
a little rubber tube, which he produced from
his pocket, on one end Of the spout, and tax.
ing the bellows, he secured the other end
of the rubber over the nozzle there. "Are
you ready, Mrs. Mayne?" he said. "Your
watch, sir" to the farmer; and the latter
solemnly took out his great silver dial that
was almost big enough for hall clock.
And then as Mrs. Mayne lifted her dasher,
Mr.. Monteith gently put the inverted rose
of the watering-pot's spout down through
his cream to the bottom of the crock, fitted
the piece of the old steamer to the top of
the crock, and with the first movement of
Mrs. Mayne's arms he opened and closed
his bellows, sent the outer air into the
cream through the spout and its rose, and
out again through the holes of the broken
steamer. and continued to open and close
the bellows SO, without word, for the
space of seven minutes. HAS your butter
come, Mrs. Mayne ?" he asked then.
My butter come !" she cried. What
should make you ask such ridiculous
question 1t never came in its life under
thirty minutes, I told you!''
Mine has," said Mr.. Monteith. And
Mrs Mayne dropped her dasher in astonish-
ment, and despite of her wishes and expec-
tations, as he opened the crock, and Rosy
lifted out great handfuls of the firm, sweet
butter, ready to be worked and salted.
"Ill be-" But on second thoughts !
will not repeat what the farmer said. 1t
made Mrs. Mayne's hair stand on end, as
that sort Of conversation usually did, not.
withstanding the twenty years she had been
exposed to it. But Rosy only laughed
" Very well, sill" said the farmer, in conclu-
sion. Il never go back on my word
And you can take her. l dare say she
isn't SO much of girl as l thought she
was" But Rosy's arms were round her IA
theirs neck, butter and all, and she was
kissing him to the point of strangulation
e" You silly thing!" she said. al do believe
you're crying! Don't you know that the
man that can fetch butter with two old bits
of tin in seven minutes can take care of a
better girl than am ?"
He can't get better GIRL" said the
farmer. But declare to man, Lshould
like to know how twas done!"
"Only by aerating the cream, sir," said
Mr. Monteith. A speedy way of carrying
out the first and last principles of the COM
mon churn."
"I'll have my lawyer patent that churn
to-day, and it shall be Rosys wedding por-
tion |" said the farmer. You're not such
bad fellow, after all. Mr.. Monteith."
The farmer did as he said. And though
up to the present day Mr.. Monteith can get
nobody else to see the merits of his great
improved lifting lock, he has father in- law
rbo hal;axaS in ~ uho boIiovas ba cnr,lo
make the sun stand still in the heavens, il
he tried. and he is the possessor-in his
wife's name, to be sure-of goodly fortune
already realized from his royalties upon the
little patent churn which was her wedding