“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.”
XII
TWO BLACK RASCALS
Old Mr. Crow was in luck. He wanted to have a neighborly chat with Mistah Mule. Not daring to fly inside the barn, he was a bit puzzled as to how he could meet Mistah Mule. And then came the good luck. Farmer Green turned Mistah Mule into the pasture.
From the top of a tall elm not far from the cornfield Mr. Crow spied Mistah Mule cropping grass near the pasture bars. About half a minute later Mr. Crow flopped down upon the topmost bar and called, “Good morning, friend!”
Mistah Mule raised his head. He had never seen Mr. Crow before. But he addressed him in a most familiar fashion. “Howdy, Jim!” he answered.
Old Mr. Crow choked. He hated to be called “Jim,” because it really was his name, which he greatly disliked.