A farmer named Arvid lived up the road. Arvid rarely said more than a situation required. Each time Anna entered his barn, he simply smiled and said Ja’så, “Oh, I see.” 

 

Anna petted the piglets and played in the hayloft until Arvid took his tin pail, nodded at her, and said, “Milking time.” While he started the tractor, she ran down the rutted track and opened the gate to the pasture. 

 

One by one, a dozen cows came to be milked. Arvid gently patted each and then sat down on his stool. As Anna watched, steady streams of milk sang against the sides of the pail.