XITROUBLESOME MR. CROW
Thoughthey both lived on the same farm, which belonged to Farmer Green, Mistah Mule and the Muley Cow were not on speaking terms. The Muley Cow had spent years there. She had seen so many queer strangers come and go that she paid little heed to new arrivals unless she knew that they were going to be what she called “permanent,” meaning that they were there to stay.
Of course she began to hear about Mistah Mule, from the day when he kicked Farmer Green. And she said then that Mistah Mule wouldn’t be there long. Shehad such a poor opinion of him that she wouldn’t even turn her head to look at the newcomer about whom all her friends were talking.
“There he is! He’s the fellow that kicked Farmer Green,” the Muley Cow’s neighbors would tell her. And they couldn’t understand why she wasn’t interested.
At last, however, somebody said something to the Muley Cow that made her both think and talk of very little except Mistah Mule. Up in the hillside pasture old Mr. Crow settled down upon the fence near her.
“Good morning!” he cried. “How are you to-day? And how’s your cousin?”
“I’m quite well, thank you,” the Muley Cow replied. “But which cousin do you mean? You know, half the herd is related to me. I have first cousins, secondcousins, third cousins, fourth cousins——”
“Yes! Yes!” Mr. Crow interrupted. “I don’t mean yourCowcousins. I mean Mistah Mule.”
“What?” exclaimed the Muley Cow with an angry toss of her hornless head. “What? Sir! How dare you call that wretched creature my cousin?”
Old Mr. Crow chuckled. He loved to tease the Muley Cow.
“Well,” he replied, “there’s his name. ‘Mule’ and ‘Muley’ are a good deal alike, aren’t they?”
“Perhaps! Perhaps!” spluttered the Muley Cow. “But this Mistah Mule and I are not the least bit alike.”
“Well,” said old Mr. Crow with a grin, “there’s his tail.”
“What about his tail?” snapped the Muley Cow.
“It’s very much like yours,” Mr. Crow replied. “It’s a tufted tail. It’s nothing like the old horse Ebenezer’s tail. If Mistah Mule’s tail isn’t the same kind as yours, then I’m not a bird.”
By this time Mr. Crow had driven the Muley Cow almost frantic.
“I don’t care what sort of tail Mistah Mule has,” she declared. “He certainly is no cousin of mine. He is not related to me, even distantly.”
“Perhaps not!” said Mr. Crow. “Anyhow, I’ll see what Mistah Mule himself says about that.”