Behind the barn we came upon a funny sight. The cow had evidently been grazing somewhere in the draw. Mrs. Shimerda had run to the animal, pulled up the lariat pin, and, when we came upon her, she was trying to hide the cow in an old cave in the bank. As the hole was narrow and dark, the cow held back, and the old woman was slapping and pushing at her hind quarters, trying to spank her into the drawside.
Grandfather ignored her singular occupation and greeted her politely. ‘Good morning, Mrs. Shimerda. Can you tell me where I will find Ambrosch? Which field?’
‘He with the sod corn.’ She pointed toward the north, still standing in front of the cow as if she hoped to conceal it.
‘His sod corn will be good for fodder this winter,’ said grandfather encouragingly. ‘And where is Ántonia?’
‘She go with.’ Mrs. Shimerda kept wiggling her bare feet about nervously in the dust.
‘Very well. I will ride up there. I want them to come over and help me cut my oats and wheat next month. I will pay them wages. Good morning. By the way, Mrs. Shimerda,’ he said as he turned up the path, ‘I think we may as well call it square about the cow.’
She started and clutched the rope tighter. Seeing that she did not understand, grandfather turned back. ‘You need not pay me anything more; no more money. The cow is yours.’
‘Pay no more, keep cow?’ she asked in a bewildered tone, her narrow eyes snapping at us in the sunlight.
‘Exactly. Pay no more, keep cow.’ He nodded.
Mrs. Shimerda dropped the rope, ran after us, and, crouching down beside grandfather, she took his hand and kissed it. I doubt if he had ever been so much embarrassed before. I was a little startled, too. Somehow, that seemed to bring the Old World very close.