Harper's Young People, October 10, 1882 An Illustrated Weekly

A VERY NEW COW.

BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.

"Father," exclaimed Katy Chittenden, the moment the buggy stopped in front of the gate, "Bun Gates and Rube Hollenhouser were here this morning just after you went away, and they said all our cows were in Mr. Gates's pasture lot."

Deacon Chittenden and his wife and his son William were all in the buggy, and the seat did not look uncomfortably full either. All three of them answered Katy in the same breath, with,

"How did they get in?"

"Oh, I don't know. They didn't say. Rube didn't say anything. It was Bun. He wanted me to tell you."

"It's all that new cow's doings," groaned her father, and the news seemed to make him slow in getting out of the buggy.

"Bun Gates and Rube Hollenhouser are the roughest pair of fellows," began William, but his father checked him.

"They drive my cows for me half the time, William. They drove 'em up to the lot this morning. I'd never have trusted you with that new cow."

It was a serious matter, and it had been on Katy Chittenden's mind all the morning. She had formed an extraordinary idea concerning the "new cow" for which her father had paid so much. So costly a creature, with such horns, and so dreadfully brindled, and that kicked the milk-pail at least three feet, was to be regarded with awe.

Dinner was hardly over before the Deacon solemnly remarked: "William, put on your apron. I will put on mine. You take the axe and I will carry the maul and some nails. We must fix that fence."

The day was warm, and it was a good walk, over the bridge, along past the wagon shop, and away up the hill road to the bars that let down into the pasture lot. It was only twenty yards from these to the bars that led into Mr. Gates's lot, and Mr. Hollenhouser pastured his cows there also.

The bars were all up, and the fence looked all right as far as they could see.

"We must follow it up," said the Deacon. "The break is further on."

It was a large, roomy pasture, and so was that of Mr. Gates at the side of it, but it was because they were both very long, for they were not very wide. They reached up and over the hill, away to the cross-roads on the upper level, so that there was a great deal of fence between them.

It was good fence, too, and in perfect order, but for all that, before they reached the top of the slope, William suddenly exclaimed:

"Father, there are Mr. Gates's cows in our lot. Both of them."

"I declare! So they are. And there are both of Mr. Hollenhouser's beyond them. There must be a bad gap somewhere."

"Wonder where our cows are?"

"It's a wonder. I haven't seen one of them, and that new cow--"

He stopped there, as if he did not wish to say anything against her just then; but the mystery was getting deeper. There was no hole in the fence, nor any sign of his own cattle until they had nearly reached the cross-roads at the upper end of the pasture.

"There they are, father. All three of 'em. In the corner."

"Yes, my son. I see them. But how did they get there? They're in Mr. Gates's lot."

"Guess he or Mr. Hollenhouser's been up here and fixed the fence before we got home. Rube and Bun would have told them, sure."

"Of course they would. I never thought of that. I should have asked them about it before we came. I can't understand it exactly now."

There certainly was a mystery about it, and one that only Rube and Bun could have explained.

Early that morning the Deacon had roused himself out of bed, so as not to miss Rube and Bun when they let out their cows. He would not have trusted his new cow with any other boys in that neighborhood. They were up good and early too, and were just fairly out in the road, with two cows apiece, when Deacon Chittenden came along, and Bun's first remark was,

"That's his new cow. Hasn't she got a pair of horns, though!"

"She's a brindle. Wonder if she's a good milker?"

However that might be, they were quickly informed that she was an animal of uncommon value, and that they could have the privilege of driving her that morning.

"All right," said Bun. "She'll go right along with ours. We'll turn her into the lot for you."

The Deacon explained that he had a trip to make which would keep him away until dinner-time, and hurried away.

The new cow must have kept an eye on him, for she behaved very well until he was out of sight. Even a cow might feel more orderly for looking at Deacon Chittenden. This one, moreover, might have done very well after he disappeared, and gone along under good influences, if it had not been for Watch Hollenhouser.

That dog was always doing more than anybody asked of him. The other cows were so well used to having him bark at them, from their own yard gates down to the bridge over the creek, that if he had not been there they would have missed him.

It was all a matter of course, therefore, with Rube's cows and Bun's and the old two of Deacon Chittenden's; but Watch was as new to the new cow as she was to him.

The distance to the creek was made in safety, a rod or so at a time, and then the little drove had all its seven noses in the water at once. It was only for a moment, indeed, and it was a good deal a matter of custom. All the cows of Prome Centre preferred to take a drink and wade across in warm weather. The creek was very wide there, and so it was very shallow, and half the teams from both ways drove right through.

The six cows that were used to it were quickly on their way over, and Watch had already crossed the bridge, and stood now on the opposite shore waiting for them, with his bark in full operation.

"Rube," suddenly exclaimed Bun, "there goes the Deacon's new cow!"

"Yes, sir, and she's heading right up stream."

"You stand here, Rube, and pelt her if she tries to come ashore on this side. I'll run for old Harms's boat and head her off. The water's too cold yet for wading."