112 MY SUMMER IN A GARDEN. 



the clothes-horse, a short distance from 

 the house. This seemed to be the 

 man s idea of the best way to cut the 

 grass. I disliked to have the cow there, 

 because I knew her inclination to pull up 

 the stake, and transfer her field of mow 

 ing to the garden, but especially 

 because of her voice. She has the most 

 melancholy &quot; moo &quot; I ever heard. It 

 is like the wail of one un-infallible, ex 

 communicated, and lost. It is a most 

 distressing perpetual reminder of the 

 brevity of life and the shortness of 

 feed. It is unpleasant to the family. 

 We sometimes hear it in the middle of 

 the night, breaking the silence like a 

 suggestion of coming calamity. It is as 

 bad as the howling of a dog at a funeral. 

 I told the man about it; but he 

 seemed to think that he was not respon 

 sible for the cow s voice. I then told 

 him to take her away; and he did, at ) 



