“I think she must be, Mr. Starr,” said Andy, gravely.
“I shall be killed, and I’m only sixty-nine!” wailed the old man, who by this time had lost his hat.
“Shall I shoot her?” asked Andy, displaying a toy pistol, which was quite harmless.
“No, don’t!” exclaimed the old man, turning pale. “You might hit me! Besides, I gave thirty dollars for her. Oh, I never expected to die this way,” he added, dismally.
But the cow was by this time tired of her burden, and, with a jerk of her head, dislodged her proprietor, who fell prostrate in a pile of manure.
Andy ran to pick him up, and helped him into the house.
“Do you think any of my bones is broken?” asked Joshua, anxiously.
“I don’t see how they can be. You fell in a soft place,” said Andy, wanting to laugh.
“I’ll sell that cow as quick as I get a chance,” said Joshua. “Don’t you tell anybody what’s happened, or you may spile the sale.”
Andy tried to introduce the subject of the note again, but Joshua was too full of the accident to talk about it. Finally, discouraged by his poor success, he went home.