A couple of weeks ago, the red cow and her yearling got on the road and started off to see the world. Of course, it was the wettest day of the season, but that didn't matter. I had to hitch up and hunt for them. It was then I realised for the first time how complex is our system of roads. Within a radius of two miles, there were no less than eighteen turns they might have taken. If they went further than that, the roads that might invite them were almost beyond computation. I hadn't the faintest hint of the direction they had taken, and the search was bewildering. I splashed through the rain around a couple of blocks, stopping at every farmhouse that was near the road to ask if any one had been pestered by a red cow and a yearling that were cheeky enough to go on the front lawn without wiping their feet, and that wouldn't hesitate to help themselves from the swill-barrel. No one had seen them. I also questioned every one who was fool enough to be out on the road in such weather, but could get no trace of them. At last, when I was about to give up in despair, and was thinking of advertising in the "Lost, Strayed, or Stolen" column of the local paper, I remembered that on the previous night I had dreamed of an old schoolmate who was living a couple of miles away. Possibly that was an omen. Anyway, I couldn't think of anything better to do, so I headed in that direction. Sure enough, I found the cow and her yearling. She was in the field, and the yearling on the road. How she got into the field I cannot imagine, for it was well fenced, and I had to let the fence down to the last rail before I could get her out. She probably found some spot where she poked through with her usual impudence. Of course, I don't want to put myself on record as believing that the dream had anything to do with my finding the cow. All I want to point out is that when a cow has gone astray, a dream is just as likely to lead you to her as anything else. But I am not going to act as if I had found an infallible method of finding a stray cow. No, indeed. Instead of doing that, I have fixed the fence where she got out.
When I got home in the rain with the stray cows, the lonesome calf was standing humped up under the drip of the granary. "Blaa-aa-aa-umph!"
A BALLADE OF NUTTING
Whenas October putteth on
Her bravery of green and gold
And far horizons dimly don
A purple veil of filmy fold,
When days are warm and nights are cold—
Dawn hath a frosted coronal—
Then I betake me, as of old,
To nut-trees—hickory, ches-, and wal-.
The song birds gather and are gone
To where the year is summer-souled.
The squirrels scamper in the sun,
The blue jays in the orchard scold.
The quail are whistling in the wold
(Rare word, that fits a madrigal),
While forth we go, with spirits bold,
To nut-trees—hickory, ches-, and wal-.
Time was when I as climber shone,
But younger legs must now take hold,
And younger shins be barked upon
The shell-bark, grievous to be tholed.
(These fruits drupaceous, I am told,
In proteid value are not small.)
But now my gay ballade is trolled
To nut-trees—hickory, ches-, and wal-.
ENVOI
Prince, if you have ever lolled
In autumn days, or ever shall,
You'll swell the praise that here is doled
To nut-trees—hickory, ches-, and wal-.