The sun was quite low.

An hour ago a little herd of cows had pelted by in a cloud of dust, with great udders swinging perilously, going home to be milked.
"That Flannigan boy always runs those cows home," said the aunt, disapprovingly, as she passed the window.
"I have always heard it was bad for the milk," assented Mrs.Anderson.
Now that her callers were on the move, Mrs.Anderson was exceedingly cordial.

She said something further about the quality of the cream obtained from the cows, and the aunt said yes, it was very good, although so dear.

The old lady kissed both the aunt and the niece when they at last went out of the door, and said she was so glad that she was at home, and begged them to come again.

She stood in the door watching them get into the coach.