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To my thinking,' said the dairyman, rising suddenly from a cow he had just finished off, snatching up his three-legged stool in one hand and the pail in the other, and moving on to the next hard-yielder in his vicinity; `to my thinking, the cows don't gie down their milk to-day as usual. Upon my life, if Winker do begin keeping back like this, she'll not be worth going under by midsummer.' ¡¡¡¡`'Tis because there's a new hand come among us,' said Jonathan Kail. `I've noticed such things afore.' ¡¡¡¡`To be sure. It may be so. I didn't think o't.' ¡¡¡¡`I've been told that it goes up into their horns at such times,' said a dairymaid. ¡¡¡¡`Well, as to going up into their horns,' replied Dairyman Crick dubiously, as though even witchcraft might be limited by anatomical possibilities, `I couldn't say; I certainly could not. But as nott cows will keep it back as well as the horned ones, I don't quite agree to it. Do ye know that riddle about the nott cows, Jonathan? Why do nott cows give less milk in a year than horned?'