IS IT A LIFE OF FEAR ? 73 



At my railroad station I frequently see a yoke of 

 great sleepy, bald-faced oxen, that look as much 

 alike as two blackbirds. Their driver knows them 

 apart ; but as they stand there, bound to one an- 

 other by the heavy bar across their foreheads, it 

 would puzzle anybody else to tell Buck from Berry. 

 But not if he approach them wearing an overcoat. 

 At sight of me in an overcoat the off ox will snort 

 and back and thrash about in terror, twisting the 

 head of his yoke-fellow, nearly breaking his neck, 

 and trampling him miserably. But the nigh ox is 

 used to it. He chews and blinks away placidly, keeps 

 his feet the best he can, and does n't try to under- 

 stand at all why greatcoats should so frighten his 

 cud-chewing brother. I will drop off my coat and go 

 up immediately to smooth the muzzles of both oxen, 

 now blinking sleepily while the lumber is being 

 loaded on. 



Years ago, the driver told me, the off ox was 

 badly frightened by a big woolly coat, the sight or 

 smell of which probably suggested to the creature 

 some natural enemy, a panther, perhaps, or a bear. 

 The memory remained, but beyond recall except in 

 the presence of its first cause, the greatcoat. 



To us there are such things as terror and death, 

 but not to the lower animals except momentarily. 

 We are clutched by terror even as the junco was 

 clutched in my goblin hand. When the mighty fin- 

 gers open, we zigzag, dazed, from the danger ; but 



