One evening late in summer, when I came in from a walk through the
fields, I found in the back porch all the implements for cheese-making.
Mrs. Wetherell said: "It's too warm to make butter, now dog-days have
come in, so I am going to make cheese."

That night all the milk was strained into the large tub. The next
morning this milk was stirred and the morning's milk strained into it.
Then Mrs. Wetherell warmed a kettleful and poured into the tub, and
tried it with her finger to see if it was warm enough. She said: "My
rennet is rather weak, so I have to use considerable."

After she had turned the rennet in, she laid the cheese-tongs across the
tub, and spread a homespun tablecloth over it, and looking up to me, she
said: "In an hour or so that will come."

I made it my business, when the hour was out, to be back in the porch.
Mrs. Wetherell was stirring up the thick white curd, and dipping out the
pale green whey, with a little wooden dish. After she had "weighed it,"
she mixed in salt thoroughly. She asked me to hand her her cheese-hoop
and cloth, which were lying on the table behind me. She put one end of
the cloth into the hoop and commenced filling it with curd, pressing it
down with her hand. When it was nearly full she slipped up the hoop a
little: "to give it a chance to press," she said. After this, she put
the cheese between two cheese-boards, in the press, and began to turn
the windlass-like machine, to bring the weights down.

"Now," said she, "I shall let this stay in press all day, then I shall
put it in pickle for twenty-four hours. The next night I shall rub it
dry with a towel, and put it up in the cheese-room. Now comes the