"Ask me everything you want to!" he cried. "Ask me about anything that's
troublin' your mind, and I'll answer if I can, and the best I can."
There was something about Uncle Solon which naturally invited
confidence, and for fully half an hour the people asked questions, to
all of which he replied after his quaint, honest fashion.
"You might ask him what makes cows give bitter milk," Willis whispered
to me, and laughed. "He's an old farmer."
"I should like to," said I, but I had no thoughts of doing so--when
suddenly Willis spoke up:
"Uncle Solon, there is a young fellow here who would like to ask you
what makes his cows give bitter milk this fall, but he is bashful."
"Haw! haw!" laughed Uncle Solon. "Wal, now, he needn't be bashful with
me, for like's not I can tell him. Like's not 'tis the bitterness in the
hearts o' people, that's got into the dumb critters."
Uncle Solon's eyes twinkled, and he laughed, as did everybody else.
"Or, like's not," he went on, "'tis something the critters has et.
Shouldn't wonder ef 'twas. What kind of a parster are them cows runnin'
in?"
Somewhat abashed, I explained, and described the pasture at the old
Squire's.
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