22 THE FACE OF THE FIELDS 



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 thresh about in terror, 

 twisting the head of his yoke-fellow, nearly break- 

 ing 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 understand at all why great-coats 

 should so frighten his cud-chewing brother. I will 

 drop off my coat and go up immediately to smooth 

 the muzzles of both oxen, 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 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 great- 

 coat. 



To us, and momentarily to the lower animals, 

 no doubt, there is a monstrous, a desperate aspect 

 to nature — night and drouth and cold, the light- 

 ning, the hurricane, the earthquake : phases of 

 nature that to the scientific mind are often appall- 



