She's a wonderful jumper.

We'll have to be hobbling her soon, I reckon." "Do you milk ?" he asked, charmed by the mental picture of so noble a dairymaid.
"Except when grandma is well enough.

You can't leave it to the darkies because they are such terrible slatterns.

Put a cow in their hands and she's sure to go dry before three months are over." She looked up at him, while the little brown mole played hide and seek with a dimple.
"Have you ever been told that you are beautiful, Miss Keren-happuch ?" he inquired with a laugh.
Her pale eyes, like frosted periwinkles, dropped softly beneath his gaze.
"How can you think so, sir, when you have seen so many city ladies ?" "I've seen many, but not one so lovely as you are this morning with the frost on your cheeks." "I'm not dressed.

I just slip on any old thing to go milking." "It's not the dress, that doesn't matter--though I can imagine you in trailing purple velvet with a trimming of sable." An illumination shone in her face, as if her soul had suddenly blossomed.
"Purple velvet, and what else did you say, sir ?" she questioned.
"Sable--fur, you know, the richest, softest, queenliest fur there is." "I'd like to see it," she rejoined.
"Well, it couldn't improve you!--remember always that the fewer fine clothes you have on the better.