Being, generally, a well-mannered creature, the Muley Cow thought it only polite to speak to the scarecrow. So she lowed gently to attract his attention. And when he swung around, as he presently did, and faced her she bowed pleasantly and said, "I hope you won't mind if I sample the corn."
No one could have been more courteous than the scarecrow. To be sure, he said nothing. But he waved an arm (as the breeze caught it) in a wide sweep.
"Surely," the Muley Cow thought, "he means that I'm to take all I want."
After thanking him she helped herself freely to the young corn. Indeed, she was almost greedy about it. Only the fact that the scarecrow seemed to throw a look at her now and then kept her from eating more. Somehow she couldn't forget that he acted very gentlemanly, though his clothes were tattered and torn. And she felt that she must do nothing to offend him.
"The corn is as good as any I've ever tasted," she assured him.
The scarecrow showed that he must have heard her, for he gave a sort of nod. And he tried his best to touch his hat. But the wind wasn't blowing quite hard enough to let him do that. "Poor fellow!" the Muley Cow thought. "He hasn't the entire use of his arms."
Then the scarecrow went through some odd motions. First he kicked backward with one leg; then he kicked forward with the other; and after that he whirled three times around the stake that supported him.
"Now, what can he mean by that?" the Muley Cow wondered. And then all at once she gave a silly sort of giggle. "I know!" she exclaimed. "He wants me to dance with him!"
For a moment the Muley Cow forgot that she was the oldest cow on the farm. She tossed her head, flirted her heels in the air, and cut a few clumsy capers around the scarecrow, who did his best to dance a jig—only the wind died down completely just as he was in the middle of it. And he hung from his pole in such a woebegone fashion that the Muley Cow began to feel uneasy about him.