the whole herd told the Muley Cow that she was the one to do it, because
she was the oldest cow on the farm.
So the next time that Billy Woodchuck hurried by on his way to the
clover-patch, the Muley Cow stood right in his path and stopped him.
"Go back!" she said severely. "You mustn't eat any more clover. You've
had too much of it already."
Billy Woodchuck sat up on his hind feet and stared very hard at the
Muley Cow.
But he said never a word.
"What's the matter with you?" she asked him. "Can't you speak when
you're spoken to? Have you nothing to say?"
It appeared that he had. "I was thinking," he stammered, "what a pity
it is that you lost your horns."
The Muley Cow gave a sort of snort.
"Don't be a ninny!" she cried. "I never lost my horns. I never had any
to lose. That's why they call me the Muley Cow."
Billy Woodchuck sat as still as a mouse and never took his eyes off her.
It gave the Muley Cow a queer turn to be looked at so steadily. It made
her fidget and squirm.
"Well! well!" she exclaimed. "How strangely you act! What's the trouble
with you? Are you ill?"
"No!" said Billy Woodchuck. "I was only thinking what a long face you
have."
"Nothing of the sort!" the Muley Cow spluttered. "It's my opinion that
you can't see well. There must be something wrong with your eyes. And I
haven't a doubt that the trouble is just this: You've eaten too much
clover."
XVII
NO HELP FROM SPOT
Billy Woodchuck was a great deal wiser than the Muley Cow had ever
suspected. She had thought she could frighten him. By telling him that
he couldn't see well because he had eaten too much clover, she actually
expected to keep him out of the clover-patch. So she had a great
surprise when he said to her:
"You must be mistaken. I know there's nothing the matter with my eyes,
because _I can see right through you_!"
The Muley Cow knew then that she had only been wasting words on Billy
Woodchuck. She realized that she hadn't frightened him in the least. And
she felt sure that the moment her back was turned he would scurry into
the clover-patch and nip off as many of the juicy red tops as he could
hold.
[Illustration: The Muley Cow Tries to Stop Billy Woodchuck.
(_Page 80_)]
So she turned away. And sure enough! The moment she moved aside, out of
his path, Billy Woodchuck made a bee line for the fence. He was under it
in a twinkling.
And the Muley Cow knew what was happening to the clover-tops.
"There's only one thing to do," she muttered to herself. "I'll speak to
old dog Spot about this Woodchuck youngster."
So she did, that very evening. When Spot came to drive the cows home she
told him that there was a young son of Mrs. Woodchuck who spent most of
his time in the clover-patch. "I know you'll be interested to hear the
news," she said.
Old Spot shook his head.
"It's no use," he growled. "I've known for weeks what was going on in
that field of clover. It's full of Woodchucks. But I never can catch
them. They always have a sentinel--a watcher--who whistles if I try to
surprise them."
"But I don't want you to _catch_ them," the Muley Cow explained. "I only
want you to _scare_ them. And most of all, I want you to frighten that
young Billy Woodchuck. He's the greediest of the lot."
"I could chase them home a dozen times a day and they'd always come back
again," said old Spot with a sigh.
The Muley Cow saw that she could expect little help from him. And it
made her feel a bit peevish.
"We need a good, young dog on this farm," she declared. "One that's not
old and fat and lazy!"
Now, Spot knew better than to argue with the Muley Cow. But he couldn't
help saying to her, "Let's see! You and I are just the same age, aren't
we?"
And for once the Muley Cow wished she had horns to prick somebody with.
XVIII
ONE APPLE TOO MANY
It was a long time since the Muley Cow had jumped the pasture fence. By
making her wear a poke for a while Farmer Green had taught her to behave
herself. But there came a day, finally, when she made up her mind that
just one more jump wouldn't do any great harm.
There had been a strong wind during the night, which had whipped a good
many red apples off the trees. It was when the Muley Cow smelled them
that she decided that she would jump the fence. She wanted to get into
the orchard before anybody could pick up the apples and take them to
the cider mill. So over the fence went the Muley Cow.
She had a pleasant time eating apples--until something happened to put
an end to her feast. Something kept the Muley Cow from swallowing
another mouthful.
* * * * *
It was lucky that Johnnie Green felt hungry. He went to the orchard
himself to fill his pockets with apples, when he saw the Muley Cow--his
own Muley Cow--acting in the strangest manner. She was staggering about
among the trees and making the queerest sounds.
Johnnie Green ran quickly to the barn and called to his father. "There's
something wrong with the Muley Cow!"
"Where is she?" his father asked him.
"In the orchard!" Johnnie said.
Farmer Green caught up a whip--a whip with a long lash and a limber
stock. With Johnnie following him he ran out of the barn, across the
yard, and into the orchard. "Don't whip her for jumping the fence!"
Johnnie pleaded.
His father never said a word.
"I wish I hadn't told him," Johnnie Green panted. He was doing his best
to keep up with his father. He thought he would rather take a whipping
himself than have the Muley Cow get one. But he didn't know how he could
ever make his father feel the same way. He had noticed that his father
reached for the whip as if he fully intended to use it.
When Farmer Green reached the Muley Cow he did a queer thing. At least
it seemed queer to Johnnie. Instead of whipping the Muley Cow, his
father ran the whip-stock down her throat!
"What's the matter?" Johnnie asked. "Why do you do that?"
"She's choked over an apple," his father explained, "and I'm trying to
shove it along."
Well, it wasn't a great while before the Muley Cow seemed to be quite
herself again.
"Rough treatment!" Farmer Green remarked. "But it certainly fixed her."
"Why did she choke?" Johnnie wanted to know.
"She tried to swallow a whole apple," said his father. "Whenever you
feed such things as apples or potatoes to a cow you must always chop
them into pieces.... Now drive the old cow to the barn," he told
Johnnie. "She'll have to wear a poke again."
When the Muley Cow heard that she wondered if she hadn't been very
foolish.
XIX
A QUESTION OF LUCK
"How lucky some people are!" said old Mr. Crow. He was talking to the
Muley Cow, in the pasture. And though she didn't specially care for his
company, she was curious enough to ask him what he meant.
"I was just thinking," Mr. Crow explained, "I was just thinking what a
hard life I lead, and how I have to hunt around to find whatever I can
to eat. In winter it's usually poor pickings for me. But some people
have their meals set right under their noses. They don't even need to
stir."
"I suppose," the Muley Cow ventured, "you're thinking about us cows."
"I am," he admitted. "You have such an easy time that often I actually
wish I had been born a cow myself."
The Muley Cow shook her head.
"That would have been impossible," she murmured.
Old Mr. Crow flared up at once.
"I'd like to know why!" he shrieked. He was always ill-mannered when he
was angry.
The Muley Cow stared at him coolly. She was a calm person, generally.
"You would have had to be a calf, in the beginning," she explained.
"Of course! Of course!" Mr. Crow spluttered. "Of course I knew that. You
needn't bother to tell me things that everybody knows."
"Being a cow is not all fun, I assure you," the Muley Cow continued.
"The trouble is, you can't go and come as you please. You have to do
about as you're told. And I'm sure you wouldn't like that, Mr. Crow."
"Perhaps not!" he admitted somewhat grudgingly. "But they're not always
looking for you with a gun," he croaked. "And you always have plenty of
company."
"Too much, sometimes," said the Muley Cow. "You can get off by yourself
whenever you want to. But how's a cow to get away from the herd?"
"She can jump the fence," said old Mr. Crow with a wicked gleam in his
eye.
"Yes! yes!" the Muley Cow agreed hastily. "But we won't discuss that.
And remember--a cow couldn't go miles and miles around Blue Mountain in
just a few minutes, as you can."
The old gentleman couldn't see that there was anything specially
pleasant in making long flights. "When I travel, it's generally because
I'm hungry," he said. "It's because I'd starve if I stood still. And in
winter I have to step lively, I can tell you. Food's scarce then, for us
crows. We have to snatch a morsel wherever we can find it, while you fat
cows are having the best of things in a warm barn.... Yes!" he declared
somewhat sourly. "You're enjoying the finest of food--out of season,
too."
"I don't know what you're talking about," said the Muley Cow.
"Corn!" Mr. Crow snapped. "Doesn't Farmer Green fill the silo with corn
in the summer? And doesn't he feed it to you in the winter? Deny it if
you can!"
XX
GOOD CORN WASTED
Mr. Crow had been talking about the corn in the silo, which Farmer Green
fed to the herd during the winter. And the Muley Cow could see that he
was growing angrier every moment.
"Well! well!" she exclaimed. "You don't object--do you?--if Farmer Green
feeds us corn that he raised himself."
"Certainly I do!" Mr. Crow fumed. "It's not fair. He doesn't store away
any nice sweet corn in a silo for me."
"Ah! You wouldn't like it if he did," the Muley Cow told him.
"Why not?" Mr. Crow asked. "Why shouldn't I enjoy nice sweet corn in
the dead of winter?"
"Because--" said the Muley Cow--"because the corn from the silo isn't
sweet. It's sour, Mr. Crow. And you wouldn't care for it at all."
The old gentleman looked surprised.
"How sour is it?" he inquired.
"I'd hate to say," the Muley Cow replied.
"I insist on your telling me," he croaked. "I insist; for I've a right
to know."
"Well," said the Muley Cow, "the corn from the silo is not quite as sour
as your temper, Mr. Crow. And that's all I can say."
That seemed to be enough for him. He asked no more questions, but flew
off in a terrible rage. And he told all his friends that it was a shame,
the way Farmer Green ruined the corn by putting it in the silo. "It
turns sour," he explained. "And Farmer Green has to feed it to the cows,
because nobody else will eat it."
All the crows in Pleasant Valley agreed that it was a pity to spoil good
corn like that. They even had a meeting--a crow caucus--in the pine
woods, they were so upset.
"What can we do about it?" they asked one another.
Nobody could supply an answer.
"If we could eat all the corn before it's cut, we could save it--" old
Mr. Crow began.
But the rest shouted him down. They knew _that_ couldn't be done.
"There's your friend, the Muley Cow," said one of them to old Mr. Crow.
"Why don't you tell her that Farmer Green's not treating the herd well?
He gives them spoiled corn. If they'd refuse to eat it, it would serve
him right."
"A good idea!" said everybody else--except old Mr. Crow. As for him, he
made a wry face.
"I don't enjoy talking with the Muley Cow," he objected. "Besides, a
talk with her would be of no use. She's one of the most stupid people I
ever saw."
After a good deal of teasing by his cronies Mr. Crow at last consented
to speak to the Muley Cow once more. And flying to the pasture, he
flapped down near her.
"If I had been born a calf--" Mr. Crow began. But he got no further than
that before the Muley Cow broke in upon his words.
"If you hadn't been born a rascal everybody would have a better opinion
of you," she told him.
He began squawking at her at the top of his lungs.
But the Muley Cow didn't care. She continued to twist her tongue around
mouthfuls of grass quite as if Mr. Crow had never been born at all.
And that was the end of that.
[Illustration: The Muley Cow Upsets Jack O'Lantern.
(_Page 100_)]
XXI
A BRAVE DEED
Nobody had ever supposed that the Muley Cow had much courage. In many
ways she seemed quite timid. Perhaps if she had had horns she would have
been different. Anyhow, whenever anything startled her the only thing
she ever did was to run away, if she could. If old dog Spot barked at
her heels the Muley Cow always hurried to get out of reach of his
snapping jaws. If Farmer Green shouted at her she was more than likely
to mind him. And usually she even did as Johnnie Green told her to do.
In all her life she was never known to fight. Yet there came a time
when many of her friends claimed that she was very brave indeed.
On a crisp fall evening a terrible, grinning fellow known as Jack
O'Lantern appeared about the farmhouse. Johnnie Green, at least, did not
fear him, in spite of his flaming features. For Johnnie and Jack spent
the whole evening together. Whenever the clatter of a wagon sounded from
the road, the two rushed out to the gate, to be there when the wagon
passed.
It was said that strangers seemed to be frightened. Anyhow, shouts were
heard. Old dog Spot did a great deal of barking. And Miss Kitty Cat hid
under the woodpile. Queer tales travelled like wildfire that night. All
the after-dark prowlers knew about Jack O'Lantern. And some of them
saw--and feared--him.
After Johnnie Green went to bed Jack sat a long time on a fence post and
grinned at the black night. And nobody--except Benjamin Bat--dared go
near him.
After a while Jack O'Lantern vanished. His gleaming eyes no longer
flashed, his horrid mouth no longer grinned. And nobody cared to go near
the place where he had sat, to see what had become of him.
At dawn Miss Kitty Cat crawled out of the woodpile to do a little early
hunting. And she claimed that at that hour Jack O'Lantern still sat on
the fence post. She saw the back of his head--so she said. And that was
enough for her. She did not look at him a second time. And yet--when
broad daylight came Jack O'Lantern had vanished completely.
It was a great mystery. And when at last the Muley Cow spoke up and said
that she had done for Jack O'Lantern, nobody could believe her.
When Miss Kitty Cat heard the news she went at once to the pasture. And
going straight to the Muley Cow she made bold to ask her a question: "Is
it true that you made away with that dreadful Jack O'Lantern?"
"Yes!" the Muley Cow replied. "I was the first one out of the barn this
morning. And I knocked Jack O'Lantern off the fence post."
"What happened then?" Miss Kitty Cat wanted to know, as she stared
round-eyed at the Muley Cow.
"He broke into a dozen pieces."
Miss Kitty Cat was suspicious. "If that's so, where are the pieces?"
"I ate them," the Muley Cow explained.
And everybody said she was very, very brave. And everybody shuddered at
the Muley Cow's next remark. "The pieces tasted very good," she said.
"It was as fine pumpkin as I ever ate."
XXII
TRYING TO BE FIERCE
The Muley Cow rather enjoyed the talk she caused because she had eaten
Jack O'Lantern. And feeling that any one so brave ought not to appear
too meek and mild, she sometimes tried to look as fierce as she could.
Somehow she could never manage a frown when old dog Spot was about. But
if she came across Master Meadow Mouse all alone in the pasture she
never failed to bellow at him and ask him in a gruff tone what he was
doing there.
When she first spoke to him like that Master Meadow Mouse was startled.
"I'm only taking a stroll," he piped.
The Muley Cow glared at him for a few moments. She wanted to act
ferocious; but unfortunately she could think of nothing more to say. And
not wishing to seem at a loss for words, she began to cough.
Before she had stopped coughing Master Meadow Mouse ran away. And that
was exactly what the Muley Cow had hoped he would do. It would have been
very awkward for her if he had waited until she had stopped coughing.
For try as she would, she could think of nothing ferocious to say.
The next time the Muley Cow met Master Meadow Mouse she bellowed at him
again and stamped her feet at him, so that the ground trembled beneath
him. He was too frightened to run. So he stood still and shivered. And
that made the Muley Cow quite uncomfortable. Master Meadow Mouse stared
at her while he panted with fright. And again the Muley Cow could think
of nothing but pleasant remarks to make.
So she began coughing once more. But to her great dismay Master Meadow
Mouse didn't run away. And since she couldn't cough forever, but had to
stop sometime, she paused to get her breath. And then she asked him a
question.
"Can't you see I'm very fierce?" she inquired. "Why don't you run away?"
"I was waiting to see what happened," said Master Meadow Mouse
pleasantly. "I thought maybe you'd choke."
Well, the Muley Cow was so surprised she didn't know what to say to
that. And to hide her confusion she started coughing again.
Again she stopped, for of course she soon had to. Master Meadow Mouse
had waited hopefully, watching her closely to see if she were not going
to choke that time, anyhow. And when she didn't he was quite
disappointed.
"Try it again--will you?" he besought the Muley Cow.
"What!" she bawled. "Do you _want_ me to choke?"
"Yes!" he told her. "I thought that if you did, Farmer Green would come
and run a whip-stock down your throat. And that would be great fun to
watch, you know."
The Muley Cow gasped. She saw that Master Meadow Mouse knew all about
her choking over an apple, in the orchard. And that was something she
never liked to talk about. To tell the truth, she was somewhat ashamed
of the whole affair. "Go away!" she bade Master Meadow Mouse. "Go away!
I don't want anything to do with you." But her voice wasn't the least
bit fierce. Nor was he the least bit frightened.
In the end it was the Muley Cow herself that ran off. And Master Meadow
Mouse even followed her all the way to the bars.
The Muley Cow was so ashamed to have been chased by a Meadow Mouse (and
a young one, at that!) that she scarcely dared look anybody in the face
until milking-time.
XXIII
THE VOW OF A COW
All the cows in the barn were much upset. They had heard some news that
didn't please them. Farmer Green was going to buy a milking machine!
"He'll never use it on me," the Muley Cow declared. "None of my family
has ever been milked by a machine; and I don't intend to be the first."
Her companions all felt just as she did. If Farmer Green could have
listened to their mutterings and rumblings and murmurings he might not
have dared bring home any milking machine. But he never dreamed that the
whole herd was _against_ one. As for his son Johnnie--and even the
hired man--they had said all along that they thought a milking machine
would be a fine thing to have.
The hired man had milked cows all his life--millions of them, so he
said! And he told Johnnie that he no longer found any fun in turning out
of a warm bed on a cold winter's morning long before daylight, to milk
cows.
Now, Johnnie Green had only learned to milk during the summer before.
But strange to say, he had already begun to feel somewhat as the hired
man did. Milking was not half the sport that it was in the beginning.
The great day came at last when the milking machine arrived. There was
an unusual bustle in the cow barn while it was being set up and tested.
Since it was winter, the cows had little else to do but watch what was
going on--and grumble. They all felt just as they had when they first
heard about the new machine--that is, all but the little red cow, who
always stood next to the Muley Cow when they were in the barn.
To everybody's surprise the little red cow announced that she was glad
the milking machine had come. "You're behind the times," she said to the
Muley Cow. "You prefer to be milked by hand, the old-fashioned way. But
I like new-fangled things. And folks say that milking machines are very
stylish this winter."
For a few moments the Muley Cow gazed, open-mouthed, at the little red
cow. "You don't mean to say," she gasped at last, as soon as she could
speak, "you don't mean to say you're going to let them hitch that
machine to you, do you?"
"Certainly I am!" cried the little red cow. "If I want to be
fashionable I'm sure it's nobody else's affair."
The Muley Cow turned to the big white cow, who stood listening eagerly
to every word.
"We'd better ask Farmer Green to move us," the Muley Cow said to her.
"This neighborhood is getting too fashionable for us."
"Not for me!" the big white cow replied. "I quite agree with the lady on
the other side of you. And we really ought to speak to Farmer Green
about changing our places--she and I. For it's not half stylish enough
for us here."
When she saw how both the little red cow and the big white one felt
about the milking machine, more than ever the Muley Cow vowed that she
would never be milked by it. No, never!
XXIV
HUMBUGS
The new milking machine was all ready to use.
"Which one are you going to try it on first?" the hired man asked Farmer
Green.
"Let's hitch it to the little red cow," said Johnnie Green's father.
The little red cow gave the Muley Cow a sly nudge. "Did you hear that?"
she asked. "Farmer Green knows who's fashionable. He chooses me to be
first! And it's a great honor."
"Nonsense!" said the Muley Cow. "He picked you because you're the
smallest cow on the farm. He thinks you wouldn't dare object to the
milking machine.... Just you wait till they try it on me! I'll kick!
I'll bellow! I'll switch my tail at them!"
The little red cow made no reply. Already Farmer Green and the hired man
had stepped up beside her. And they were just about to fasten the
milking machine to her when the big white cow let out a frightened bawl.
"What's the matter?" the little red cow asked her.
"I was just thinking," she stammered, "what a terrible thing it would be
if they couldn't stop the machine!"
That was an awful thought. Such an idea had never entered the red cow's
head. And the moment she heard it she no longer wanted to be
fashionable. She was so alarmed that she lashed out with both hind feet
in a most unladylike manner. And she plunged and roared and made such a
fuss that Farmer Green and the hired man left her in disgust.
"She hasn't the brains of a hen," Farmer Green declared.
"Shall we try the big white cow?" the hired man asked him.
"No! She's a numskull too," said Farmer Green. He was feeling somewhat
cross, for the little red cow had given him a smart kick. "Let's take
the old Muley. She knows something, even if she is a jumper."
Well, what could the Muley Cow do? She had declared to all her friends
that she would _not_ be milked by any new-fangled milking machine. But
when Farmer Green spoke so pleasantly about her she hadn't the heart to
disappoint him. So she stood quite still for a few minutes. And soon
she had the honor of being the first cow in the herd to be milked the
fashionable new way.
The little red cow was frightfully jealous of her. And she called the
Muley Cow "an old humbug."
"You said you wouldn't let them do it," the little red cow spluttered.
"And here you are, with the honor of being first!"
"And you--" the Muley Cow retorted--"you said you were glad the milking
machine had come. But you certainly didn't act pleased when they offered
to use it on you.... Speaking of humbugs, I should say you were one
yourself."
For once the little red cow had nothing to say. The herd agreed that it
was the _first_ dispute in which she hadn't had the final word. And to
their surprise, ever afterward the little red cow was meek and mild. She
even let Farmer Green milk her with the milking machine. And there was
only one thing that ever vexed her. She never could bear to hear the
word _humbug_.
Somehow the whole herd became gentler. At last Farmer Green announced
proudly, right in their hearing, that they were giving more milk.
"It's the milking machine," he told the hired man. "The cows like it."
But the Muley Cow knew better than that. She was too polite to say as
much to Farmer Green. She wouldn't dream of disputing what he said,
though she knew well enough that he had not guessed the secret. Being
only a man, he had not noticed how fashionable the cows had become. And
since no cow can be a fine, fashionable dame if she is rude, noisy and
quarrelsome, they simply had to be on their best behavior all the time.
And they were especially particular about two matters. They
ate--neatly--every bit of fodder that was set before them, and gave all
the milk they could in return for it.
THE END
SLUMBER-TOWN TALES
(Trademark Registered.)
By ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY
AUTHOR OF THE
SLEEPY-TIME TALES and TUCK-ME-IN TALES
=Colored Wrapper and Text Illustrations Drawn by HARRY L. SMITH=