It was an eighty-cow dairy, and the troop of milkers, regular and supernumerary, were all at work; for, though the time of year was as yet but early April, the feed lay entirely in water-meadows, and the cows were 'in full pail.' The hour was about six in the evening, and three-fourths of the large, red, rectangular animals having been finished off, there was opportunity for a little conversation. 'He do bring home his bride to-morrow, I hear. They've come as far as Anglebury to-day.' The voice seemed to proceed from the belly of the cow called Cherry, but the speaker was a milking-woman, whose face was buried in the flank of that motionless beast. 'Hav' anybody seen her?' said another. There was a negative response from the first. 'Though they say she's a rosy-cheeked, tisty-tosty little body enough, ' she added; and as the milkmaid spoke she turned her face so that she could glance past her cow's tail to the other side of the barton, where a thin, fading woman of thirty milked somewhat apart from the rest. 'Years younger than he, they say, ' continued the second, with also a glance of reflectiveness in the same direction. 'How old do you call him, then?' 'Thirty or so.'