Billy was seven years old, and almost ready to enter into fraternal relations with Robbins, the hired man. Hitherto his overalls had been made from a modified pattern of his sister's rompers, with much indefiniteness, of course, as to straps and pockets. Now he had a pair of real ones, with dark billowy stripes and heavy black buckles, which he knew had never come from the button bag that hung on the inside of the closet door. To be sure the legs of these new trousers were a great deal too long, but his mother had cut them off to fit him, and besides, nobody knew about it when they were tucked inside of his rubber boots. For Billy had rubber boots, too, - boots with little rubber ears to pull them on with, and pieces of metal on the heels that left queer patterns in the soft mud. What a comfort it was to walk straight through a puddle of water without caring a bit where it splashed!
Boots and overalls, however, were only a means to an end in the life of Robbins, the hired man, and Billy tried not to think too much about his own. He told the boys who came to play with him that he "had to work now." Sometimes he could have taken it all back when he saw them scampering off to dam up the tiny freshet which hurried over the rocks on the side hill. Never mind; were n't he and Robbins clearing the stones all off of the corner lot? It was nice to be out there with all the busy morning things! Sometimes the crows came so near that he could see the sun glistening on their smooth black bills. And Billy often wondered if the fat gray squirrel that blinked at him from the top of the stone wall knew about a wire cage rat-trap which he had baited and set so carefully in the snow under the big pine tree. Then there were the long rides to and from the ditch, when Billy stood on the edge of the stone boat and Robbins walked along behind. He wished his mother could see him guide the team through that gap - the gap where Robbins himself had tipped over a load of hay last summer.
So the long morning went by and the big whistle across the river blew for twelve o'clock. At the first sound of this loud, screeching thing that seemed to come from nobody knew where, he and Robbins unhitched the horses and started home. Robbins carried the whiffletree, and Billy drove, or rather followed, the horses at a pace that made his boots feel very heavy by the time they came in sight of the house. He hoped his father did not see him standing on the edge of the trough to let down old Dolly's check-rein, but he was happy as he watched her take in long draughts of water, with her sleek brown ears moving back and forth, as even and regular as the pendulum of the big clock in the hall.
Long after breakfast one morning Billy went into the barn and saw a great armful of straw over in the corner beneath the window. How strange that Robbins had not left it for him to throw down at night! And why was Black Ann eating her hay over there? He would go and drive her back, and - it was a calf! a new calf! and Black Ann, between hurried mouthfuls, was introducing the two. Billy was sure he had never seen such a fine calf. It was of a light fawn color, with a darker ridge along the top of its back and a tiny white tip on the very end of its tail. On either side of the head was a spot where the hair had been brushed into a curl, and just beneath it Billy could feel a queer little bump which some day perhaps would grow into smooth, curved horns like those of Black Ann herself. Billy did not spend much time in the field for the next few days. He told his father and Robbins that the cornstalks ought to be carried off the barn floor. And when the others had all left him and the barn was still, he would steal down and lie on the straw with the little Black Ann. He liked to feel of [sic] the soft, silky places on the sides of its mouth and to hold the hot little nose in his hand. And once, when the sun was very warm and his father had gone away, Billy led the little creature up into the yard so that his mother could see it through the kitchen window. But they did not stay long, for Black Ann could no go along, of course, and it was not half fair to separate the two.
Then came the day when Billy's father said at dinner, "Robbins and I are going to mill this afternoon. If the calf man comes, tell him I'll take anything I can get for that calf of Black Ann's. You may keep the money." Billy was glad that his mother had heard this. His father was trusting him to do a thing like this instead of any one else in the family.
The afternoon was dreadfully long. Billy did not go hear the barn. The tire to his express wagon had come off some time ago and it must be fixed. The bar of sunlight that shone through a knot hole in the side of the tool house was getting shorter and shorter, when Billy heard a wagon rumbling along the road. Yes, it was coming up the lane. He knew what it looked like - a great, covered wagon with a black top and two little green doors at the end that shut with a padlock. Billy waited until the horse was tied and blanketed before he stepped out into the yard and said, "Father has gone away, Mr. Slavin, but I'll show you the calf." With brave steps, Billy led the way across the cow yard and down to the stable door. All was still inside except now and then for a tremendous sigh as some old bossy folded her legs beneath her and settled comfortably down for a nap. Billy unlocked the door and walked straight over to the corner. Black Ann had risen to meet him, but Billy turned his back squarely upon her and looked down at the little fellow who was sleeping so soundly in the straw at his feet.
"Get up, you," said Billy in a deep voice, at the same time resolutely prodding the sleek little side with the toe of his rubber boot. He had seen Robbins do that when he showed the pigs to the butcher last fall. Billy tried not to notice the small, rough tongue that was drawn across his hand the next minute. Mr. Slavin "hefted" and felt for a few moments.
"Wa'al," he said, "I reckon his hide'll fetch about two dollars down to Brighton."
"All right, sir," said Billy, as he followed the trader back through the yard and up to the wagon again. The green doors opened; Billy shut his eyes; there was a thud, and then a great churning inside as though many small legs and hoofs were trying to make room for one more set. Then the wagon started, turned the corner, and went rattling down the lane.
When Robbins came down with the milk pails at six o'clock, the light from his lantern shone across the barn. Over in the corner was Billy, his face buried in the soft folds of Black Ann's neck; in one hand were two crumpled dollar bills, and in the other a piece of tarred rope fastened to an empty collar.