THE NEW COW.
The warm sunshine lay full on the great barnyard, and the silence of a
summer morning in the country lay over everything. The farmhands were
off at work, and the wide barn-doors stood open. The air was full of the
sweet, warm odour of drying hay.
The children loved the big, rambling barn, with its dark, dusky corners,
and they would play there by the hour. They would climb up the steep
ladders, walk fearlessly across the big beams, and, with a wild whoop,
would plunge downward on the mass of soft, sweet-smelling hay beneath.
Cricket had learned to achieve a somersault while in mid-air, and was
very proud of this accomplishment. Then such places for hide-and-seek,
when they could coax the boys to join them, did the dim corners afford!
Such a famous place it was in which to play “Indians,” for they could
barricade themselves behind mounds of hay, and fire a scattering shot of
grain at the enemy who besieged them. The front doors of the barn were
level with the lane, but behind it, where the barnyard was, the ground
fell sharply, so that the same floor was a second story, beneath which
the cow-stables lay. At the back of the barn, opposite the front door,
was another wide door, opening on the cowyard, ten feet below, so that a
wagon backed up there could easily be loaded from above.
Fortunately, ’Gustus John was good-nature itself, and “admired to hev
the children enjoy themselves,” as he often said. In all their capers,
he had never been known to say anything stronger than, “Wal, I do vum! I
never see sech goin’s-on.” It was for this reason that Eunice and
Cricket did not in the least believe Mamie when she said that her father
had sent her to tell them not to go into the barnyard that day. If the
child had told them the reason why, they would not have thought of
going, for, with all their faults, they were rarely directly
disobedient. They were too well-trained for that. Dr. Ward believed in
letting the children run wild all summer, while they were in the
country, and there were but two things he was severe with: disobedience
and the want of truth.
As the girls came up, the barnyard was quite deserted except for one
peaceful-looking cow who stood quietly chewing her cud in a shady
corner. A few stray hens and chickens clucked and scratched in the
straw. Not another sound was to be heard. Even Mamie was not in sight.
“I wonder where that bad little thing is?” said Cricket, looking around,
and half expecting a shower of pebbles, by way of greeting.
“Expect she’s gone to mourn for her sins,” said Eunice.
“That will take her some time,” laughed Cricket, “and so we’ll have a
little peace. Isn’t that the new cow ’Gustus John bought last week at
the Fair? I wonder why it isn’t in the pasture with the rest.”
“I don’t know. Oh, Cricket, what lovely boards!” exclaimed Eunice. “I
suppose ’Gustus has them for his new hen-house. Let’s take one of them
and see-saw.”
“Oh, goody, let’s!” and the little girls soon had one of the long new
boards down from the pile. See-saw was an old amusement, and their
favourite place to balance the board was across one of the open spaces
in the barnyard fence. One little girl would go inside the yard and the
other would stay outside.
“See how funny that cow stands?” said Cricket, as she unfastened the
gate and went into the barnyard, in order to pull the board through as
Eunice pushed it from the other side.
The cow stood with her head lowered and her tail moving restlessly,
watching the children’s movements. Cricket, however, too used to cows to
fear them, did not notice her further, and drew the board to the right
position to balance. Then with much squealing and laughing—little-girl
fashion—the two seated themselves, and the fun began.
“See-saw! see-saw! here we go up and down,” sang the children gayly, as
Cricket’s head rose above the fence and Eunice went down. They did not
see Mamie peeping at them from the barn-door that opened above the
cowyard, and they rather wondered at her unusual absence.
“It’s just lovely to have that Mamie out of the way,” remarked Cricket,
as she went up again.
“Too good to last,” returned Eunice.
At this moment a scream came from the barn-door above them.
“Oh, Cricket, look out for the new cow!” but too late came Mamie’s
warning. The new cow, frantic at the strange sight of a bright-coloured
spot moving up and down before her very eyes, with a rush bolted across
the yard and caught the descending board right on her horns. The next
second Cricket was spinning through the air and came down against Eunice
with a force that stunned them both.
A sudden peal of impish laughter rang out from the barn, changing almost
instantly to a shrill cry of terror. Mamie, hopping about, as usual, on
one foot, had lost her balance, and plunged downward, head-foremost.
The shrill cries still continued when Cricket, a few moments after, sat
up slowly and looked around her.
“Why, what in the world—” she began, pushing back her curly mop with
both hands, in the greatest bewilderment,—then she looked down at
Eunice, who lay white and unconscious on the ground. The back of her
head had struck sharply against a stone, for she had caught the full
force of Cricket’s fall. The latter, consequently, had escaped being
seriously hurt.
[Illustration: CRICKET FINDS EUNICE UNCONSCIOUS.]
“Eunice!” cried Cricket, wild with terror, “speak to me! What’s the
matter, Eunice?” and she tried to lift her sister in her arms. She had
never seen unconsciousness before, and for one terrible moment she
thought that she was dead. Eunice, at the movement, opened her eyes and
tried to speak.
Meanwhile Mamie’s cries were ringing out,—
“Ow! ow! Cricket, come take me off! she’s a-hooking my feet!”
As Eunice stirred, Cricket turned, and even in her terror and excitement
she laughed at the sight she saw. Mamie had lost her balance and plunged
forward, but as she went over the sill, her stout gingham frock caught
on a projecting nail a few inches down, and there she still hung, arms
waving and legs wildly kicking, and sending out shriek after shriek.
Below, the ugly cow was lowering her head and striking at the dangling
feet, every now and then hitting them. “Pull me up, Cricket!” Mamie
screamed, nearly in convulsions of terror, her struggling making the
matter still worse.
As Cricket rose unsteadily to her feet, and saw the situation, the whole
thing flashed into her quick brain. Mamie had been sent to tell them to
keep out of the barnyard, because the new cow was ugly, and she had
purposely given only half the message. And here was Eunice half-killed
as a result. Of her own bruises she never thought.
“I don’t care!” she screamed, passionately, in answer to Mamie’s
shrieks. “I don’t care if you’re all hooked up! You’ve killed my Eunice,
and I hope you are satisfied,” and she knelt by her sister again.
“I’ll never be bad any more,” shrieked Mamie, at the top of her lungs.
“Help—me—up,—Cricket.”
“I don’t care,” repeated Cricket, angrily, but really scarcely knowing
whether to run for help, or stay with Eunice, or help Mamie. “That
hateful, hateful little thing! Serves her right.”
But in a moment Cricket’s better self came to the front, at Mamie’s last
piercing cry,—
“Ow! ow! she’s hurt my foot awful!”
Cricket sprang up and ran around to the barn-door. Her knee was cut and
bleeding, but she did not heed it. She darted across the barn floor to
the door at the back. It was not an easy matter to decide what she was
to do, for Mamie, though she was slight and small, would be a dead
weight on her as she pulled her up, and then also, she suddenly
discovered that her left shoulder was strained and sore. But there was
no time to hesitate, for Mamie’s position was dangerous as well as
absurd. Her struggles might release her dress at any moment, and those
angry horns and hoofs were waiting below.
Cricket grasped a stout, wooden staple at the side of the door-frame
with her right hand, and, bending far over, she slipped her left arm
around Mamie’s waist. Mamie clutched her instantly.
“Stop wiggling,” said Cricket, sharply. It was no small task for her,
with her strained arm, to bring Mamie up even those ten inches, but with
a desperate effort she drew her up to a sitting position on the
door-sill, so the child could scramble in herself. For one second she
felt as if her arm was being dragged out of her body, and only long
practice in swinging off limbs of trees, and drawing herself up again,
had made her muscles equal to the strain.
Mamie climbed in, and then stood perfectly still, for once, with nothing
to say, looking at Cricket out of the tail of her eye. If Cricket had
fallen on her and thrashed her soundly, she would have taken it without
a murmur. But Cricket, of course, had no such idea. She stood for a
moment, looking at her small enemy in silence, and then raced out of the
barn, back to her beloved Eunice. She found her sitting up and looking
very dazed and white. She had not the least idea what had happened to
them, and was too confused to ask.
“Do you feel as if you could walk home?” asked Cricket, putting her arm
very tenderly around her; “or will you stay here while I go for Mike to
bring you home in the carriage? Or do you want to go into the
farm-house, and get ’Manda to give you something?”
“I think—I’ll—go home,” said Eunice, her nerves decidedly shaken, and
her head still dizzy from the effects of the blow. “I’ll—try—to walk.”
Cricket helped her up, and put her arm about her to steady her.