"That clover's not intended for you," the Muley Cow told him at last. She thought that ought to be enough to stop him. But it made not the slightest difference. Billy Woodchuck continued to visit the clover-patch just as often as ever. And it seemed to the Muley Cow that he stayed longer each time he went there.
"Something will have to be done to keep that Woodchuck boy out of our clover," she announced to the rest of the herd. "If we don't stop him there'll be no nice clover hay for us next winter."
"Somebody ought to put a poke on him," said the little red cow. And everybody laughed—everybody except the Muley Cow. She saw nothing funny in the suggestion. She thought it silly; and she said as much, too: "Who ever heard of a Woodchuck wearing a poke about his neck?"
"Have you told Billy Woodchuck to keep out of the clover?" one of the Muley Cow's friends inquired.
"I've dropped a hint; but it seems he can't take a hint," the Muley Cow replied.
"Then someone will have to speak plainly to him," the friend said. And 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.