152 FARMING IT 



evenings in the country taverns on the route, the 

 long rides through the country roads piled high 

 with red and yellow leaves, the chaffering and 

 bargaining in the village squares, the meeting of 

 strange droves and the locking of horns of rival 

 leaders, the shouts of the drovers, the wild dashes 

 after escaping cattle, the thousand and one bits of 

 experience and information that one would glean, 

 and the pleasant acquaintances one would make ! 



Alas ! those days have passed, and with them 

 the jolly giants of the road ; the " Drover rides on 

 his raids no more," and the only thing left is 

 memory. No, I have forgotten, my cow is left, for 

 I truly believe my cow is one of the first animals 

 driven over the road in the old days. For she is 

 old, my friends, a veritable antique, a sort of colo- 

 nial sideboard of a cow, with curved, spindly legs, 

 and knobs and peaks to hang things on, and hol- 

 lows to hold things, and handles to take hold of. 



The abandoned villain and former friend who 

 sold me this cow assured me that this was a cow 

 as was a cow, an easy milker, kind, eats next 

 to nothing, cheapest cow to keep he ever saw, 

 nearly fills a pail to the brim every milking, 

 so she does, a quart pail, and all for thirty-five 

 dollars. 



Now I had inquired and found that a good cow 

 ought to bring seventy-five dollars, and here was 

 (at least according to my friend's description) a 



